


Say My Name

by almostsophie1



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Matchmaking, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4754576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostsophie1/pseuds/almostsophie1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marie Hawke knows she shouldn't be wasting time staring at that tattooed guy named Fenris who works at Cousland's Cafe and Bookstore. After all, she'd much rather stay inside her apartment to play video games or work on her senior thesis for Kirkwall University. But somehow she keeps finding herself with Fenris (though she's sure it's Isabela's evil matchmaking), and always manages to say something stupid in front of him. But he might, actually, maybe, not really, hopefully, seem to like Hawke just a teeny-tiny bit. She's not really sure. But she doesn't *really* care that much. Or so she tries to claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Pretend You Didn't See That

            I _should_ be writing my essay, but instead I’m staring at the guy shelving books several feet away. I blame it entirely on Merrill’s constant chip munching. She’s watching _Game of Thrones_ on her laptop across from me, and while I’m impressed she can eat while watching people get their heads chopped off, it’s also very noisy.

            And, if I’m honest, the new guy who’s working at Cousland’s Café and Bookstore is hot. I mean, I’m usually not one for lots of tattoos, or dyed hair, but he pulls it off well. He has the sleeves of his dark sweater rolled up to his elbows, and the white ink lines twist and encircle his muscular arms. His tattoos are on his face, too, swirling on his chin. They travel down his neck, and probably continue down his chest. I wonder what the designs under his shirt look like.

            Wow. I’m being really creepy, aren’t I? I’m totally being creepy. Sorry, new guy.

            I squint at the article in front of me—the one I’m supposed to be using as a reference for this paper. I told myself that since this was my last year at Kirkwall University, I would start off the first semester by getting ahead.

            Ha.

            “Hey, kitten.” Isabela plops herself down on the chair next to me. I haven’t seen her in months, since the last semester, and she’s gotten a new piercing under her lip—a gold stud that shines against her dark skin.

            I grin. “Hey! I’m sorry I didn’t text you more this summer. Things got crazy with work. How did the art show go?”

            Isabela works at _Cousland’s_ , but she also does lots of paintings. Paintings of naked people in compromising positions. But she’s really talented and got her work into a gallery showing.

            “Things are _always_ crazy with your work.” Isabela shakes her head with an amused expression. “The show was fine. Fortunately not a lot of people with their heads up their asses. Just… other things up their asses.”

            I grimace. “Thanks, Isabela. I really needed to know that.”

            She laughs. “You really did.”

            “Is Zev still working here?” Zevran Arainai is one of our mutual friends—though he’s sometimes a little more than friends with Isabela.

            “He doesn’t work Mondays this year.” Isabela stretches like a cat, and the tattoo guy stops re-shelving books to go back to the register at the bookstore. My eyes flick to him—totally the movement of white hair and not that I’m staring at him. Okay, I’m totally staring.

            “Sizing up that delicious piece of work over there?” Isabela asks slowly, a smug expression on her face.

            “No.” I answer immediately. Then, “How long has he been working here?”

            “About four months.” Isabela raises her eyebrows. “Interested?”

            “No.” I try to take a sip of chai, but the cup is empty. “Is he single?”

            Isabela snorts loudly. “He’s single. Though broody as hell and has a major chip on his shoulder. But he has the most _adorable_ little accent.”

            “I like accents.” I prop my elbow on the table, then my chin on my hand. “How broody is ‘broody as hell’? Like, on a scale of one to ten-”

            “Eleven.” Isabela smirks. “But it’s the kind of broody that can be a _big_ turn on. Let me tell you, there was one time-”

            “Isabela!” Merrill’s finally looked up from her laptop, and takes off her massive headphones. “I missed you this summer! How have you been? Are you still working here? Of course you are, you’re wearing the shirt. How foolish of me. Did you have any romantic love affairs recently? Anyone special?”

            “So many questions.” Isabela tugs at her _Cousland’s_ shirt, which she’s cut the neckline of to show off her envious amounts of cleavage. “I _did_ have a few flings over the summer. None of them particularly memorable, other than one artist I worked with. She did this thing where she-”

            “We made a deal about no specific details.” I deadpan.

            Isabela scoffs. “What about you two?” She looks directly at me.

            I pretend to drink more of my chai, but Merrill answers for me, “Hawke didn’t really see anyone at all. Unless you count me. I suppose I do count. I tried to make her go out with me and Tamlen a few times, but she complained about being the third tire.”

            “Third wheel,” I grumble under my breath as Isabela sighs. _Way to sell me out, Merrill._

“Kitten, you really need to stop hiding away in your room playing that _Champion of Dragons_ thing.” Isabela groans.

            I feel my cheeks warm. “It’s not called _Champion of Dragons_ , thank you very much.” I retort. “And I got out plenty! I went to visit Beth, and Carver, and Mom, and Fluffy-”

            “You're counting your dog?” Isabela’s eyes narrow. “You _only_ listed your family and your dog.”

            “I saw other people, too!” I protest.

            Isabela stares at me expectantly. “I don’t remember seeing anyone else stop by our apartment.” Merrill muses.

            I bury my face in my hands as Merrill says, “Oh. I don’t think I should’ve said that, sorry Hawke.”

            She says it with that adorable little Welsh accent, and I have to forgive her. “Don't worry about it Merrill. Isabela’s just nosy.”

            “I’m not nosy.” Isabela tells me patiently. “I’m just trying to remind you that you _said_ you were moving on and thinking about dating again.”

            “And I am!” I squawk loudly, before realizing that the people at the table next to us are staring. I immediately duck my head in embarrassment.

            Isabela’s quiet for a moment, which is never a good sign. Then she says, “Varric wrote a new book.”

            “Really?” My head jerks up. “Why didn’t he say anything?” I demand. Varric Tethras runs the bookstore part of _Cousland’s_ , and he also writes some pretty amazing stuff. I’d seen him earlier today when Merrill and I had been ordering our drinks, and he didn’t mention it.

            “It’s _Swords and Shields._ He’s trying out a new series.” Isabela answers, trying to take a sip from my chai cup and frowning at it.

            “If it’s anything like _Hard in Hightown_ , it’ll be great.” I stand up and push the chair back, only to realize Isabela’s just convinced me to go buy a book from the cute new guy. I glare at her. “You’re not doing this for Varric’s book, are you?”

            “Would you just go up and talk to him otherwise?” Isabela asks.

            I think about it for a second. “No.”

            “I’ve just given you an excuse, kitten. Go for it.”

            Grabbing my purse from the back of the chair, I take her advice. This probably won’t end well.

            “What’s Hawke going for?” Merrill’s voice follows me as I walk past a few more tables to get to the carpeted area of the bookstore.

            I find the book quickly—it’s a misty scene of a woman with pale gray eyes and a delicate nose holding a massive shield that covers her from her mouth to just below her knees. I don’t bother to read the back—I’ll read anything that Varric puts out, half because the guy is more of an uncle to me than my _actual_ Uncle Gamlen, and half that _Hard in Hightown_ was actually really good.

            I then peer around the shelves to see if the new guy is still at the register. He is, and I pathetically smooth down my hair a few times before making my way toward him.

            At the register, I say, “Hello.”

            “Is this all for you today?” He looks tired, with deep bags under his eyes, and a little bit serious. Isabela wasn’t joking about the broodiness. But…

            Oh. My. God. His voice. His voice is deep, and scratchy, and… Wow. “Um. Yeah. I think so. Thanks.”

            His eyes are this beautiful green color, peeking out from under strands of white hair. He scans the book, and hits a button on the register.

            I stare at my hands. This is where Isabela would say something funny, or Merrill would be generally adorable. Zevran would probably just be like, _Hey, you’re attractive, I’m attractive… let’s bang._ Except he’d say it with more eloquence and throw in some euphemisms, too.

I feel like I’m decent enough with flirting sometimes—but absolutely nothing is coming to mind at the moment. Banter? Nope, I've got nothing.

            Tattoo guy says something, and I look up at him. I definitely did not make out any words. “Sorry, what was that?” I ask him.

            “Sixteen twenty-three.”

            I don’t have my wallet out, but I quickly grab it from my purse. I dig out twenty dollars and see two dimes in the little change pocket. And there are three pennies in there! I love paying with exact change when I can—it can be a lot less trouble for whoever’s at the register.

            I scrape out twenty-two cents and realize the last penny is stuck. “Sorry.” I say quickly, trying to pry it out of the crevice it’s wedged in.

            I’m taking up too much time. My face starts to heat up, and I turn my wallet upside down with my right hand, ready to catch the penny with my left. Except all my receipts, movie ticket stubs, and gum wrappers fall out with the stupid penny, and they flutter to the floor around my feet.

            The new guy just watches me.

            “Sorry.” I cringe, squatting down to pick everything up. “That probably wasn’t the best idea. Hindsight twenty-twenty.”

            _Marie, you are such a mess. Such a huge, colossal mess._

            “I haven’t cleaned out my wallet in a really long time,” I blurt, seizing the penny with my left hand and shoving everything else back into my wallet. “I’m super bad about throwing things away, because there’s always a chance I’ll need them again and- SHIT!”

            My head comes into contact with something incredibly hard and painful, accompanied by a loud _thud._ It was the edge of the counter. And now my skull is throbbing.

            “You alright?”

            “Yeah. Sorry,” I say weakly, handing the new guy my penny.

            It’s incredibly, terribly obvious he’s trying not to laugh, but even then, there’s this dry, rumbling sound coming from his throat. This little chuckle. “Do you need some ice?”

            I want to sink into the ground. “No, thanks. I’m good.” _I’m so not good._ “I mean, I’m only seeing one of you right now—if you suddenly grow another head, my friends are in the café and can take me to the hospital. And the walls aren’t moving, or anything. I have a pretty hard head.”

            He’s smirking as he hands me four dollars back and I stick it with the wad of receipts. “Do you?”

            “Not in the metaphorical sense.” I clarify, my face growing even warmer if that’s possible. “Actually, maybe in the metaphorical sense. But I just meant that… I don’t need ice. For that reason.”

            He gives this raspy, short laugh. “Any other reasons?”

            “None that I can think of at the moment.” I seriously must’ve lost all my social skills over the summer just going between work and home. Maybe I should’ve gone out with Merrill and Tamlen more often.

            “Hm.” He gives me the book now, and I grasp it with very clammy hands.

            “Thank you.” I say, ready to dart back to Isabela and cry into her comfy chest.

            “Enjoy the book.” He crosses those nicely sculpted arms over his chest.

            “You too.” I blink, then power walk toward the café. My hip catches a chair and it screeches as it moves.

            _You too? Really, Marie?_

            One look at Isabela’s face and I know she eavesdropped on the entire conversation. I sink into my seat and whisper, “Please remind me to never interact with people ever again.”

            Merrill pats my shoulder slowly. “I didn’t think you did too badly. You made him laugh.”

            Isabela just shakes her head. “That was a train wreck if I ever saw one. Fortunately, you’re cute even when you’re being an idiot.”

            I realize my laptop still has the article I’m supposed to be reading on the screen. “I need to write this stupid essay,” I mutter.

            “You do that, Kitten.” Isabela sighs. “And since I know you were too busy dropping things to notice, his name is Fenris.”

            Fenris.

            I glance back his direction to find that he’s already vanished from behind the register. He really does have amazing eyes. And his accent _is_ adorable. Actually, not adorable. Really, really sexy.

            “Hawke? Aren’t you going to write?” Merrill asks.

            My head snaps around back to my laptop. “Yeah. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing.”

           

           


	2. My Head's Perfectly Fine, Thanks

            September in Kirkwall is unusually chilly this year, and I pull the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands and wrap my arms around myself as I waddle toward _Cousland’s._

            The conversation with Isabela after I’d left work had been concise.

            _Hello?_

_Kitten, tell me you’re wearing something decent._

_Um. Jeans and a sweater?_

_Good. Not those God awful sweatpants you’ve had since freshman year. You should come by Cousland’s. Merrill says you’re off of work and Zev wants to see you._

A gust of wind blows a sheet of newspaper in my face, and I peel it off unceremoniously. Well, it _is_ Kirkwall.

            I push open the glass door to _Cousland’s_ to see Isabela waving at me from behind the counter, and Zev beaming at me from next to the pastry case.

            “Marie, _bella_ , it’s been too long!” The blonde man with the thick Spanish accent purrs as I shiver and feel my cheeks begin to thaw.

            “It’s good to see you, Zev.” I swing my backpack off my shoulder to pry out my wallet while grinning at Zevran. He’s gotten new piercings—a bar across the top of his long, slender ear. “Have you been up to your usual trouble?”

            Isabela passes me a chai as I hand her two dollars and a quarter. “He’s always into trouble, Kitten.”

            “You’re one to talk.” I answer smoothly, before attempting to take a drink and burning my tongue.

            I cough, then splutter, then stick my tongue out and try to let the cold air make me feel like my mouth isn’t on fire.

            Isabela snorts loudly while Zevran sighs fondly. “I miss you, my dear Hawke, whenever you’re not around.”

            “Ith really hoth, okay?” I try to pout with my tongue out and fail miserably.

            Zevran looks at Isabela with an amused expression, “You see, usually when there’s steam coming out of a mug, it means-”

            “Thankth. I’m not a _complete_ idiot.” I breathe deeply through my mouth, wondering if I’ve scorched off taste buds.

            “Isabela, did someone else on an earlier shift get the new shipment from _Brecilian_?” A deep, gravelly voice comes from behind me.

            I turn my head and look, tongue still sticking out, and see Fenris about a foot away. His eyes flick to my face and I freeze, staring blankly at him. The corners of his mouth are turned down, like he’s got something particularly serious to brood about today.

            “Yeah, I think Velanna got it earlier.” Isabela leans her forearms on the counter next to the cash register, giving Fenris and I a clear view down her shirt.

            “Right. Thanks.” Fenris looks curiously at me. “Your head okay?”

            I blink at him a few times before wondering if he’s implying I’m insane. I mean, yes my tongue is sticking out of my mouth like Fluffy when he's panting and excited to see someone, but I can't look _that_ crazy. Can I? I slowly close my mouth, ignoring the still-burning sensation on my tongue. “Uh…”

            Fenris continued to watch me, white hair hanging in his eyes. “You had said you didn’t need ice. I was just… checking.”

            “Oh!” I smack my hand to my forehead in realization, which actually really hurts. “Oh! Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, that’s fine. I hit my head a lot. Well, occasionally. Either way I’m used to it. And I’m hardheaded.”

            Fenris raises a dark eyebrow. “So you mentioned.”

            “Oh, right. I did. Sorry.”

            Zevran makes a noise that sounds remarkably similar to a stifled laugh.

            “Have you two met before?” Isabela asks innocently.

            “Not formally,” Fenris answers, but it looks like he’s about to crack a smile. “Though I suppose you’re a regular here?”

            “I’ve been coming since I was a freshman at Kirkwall. Caffeine as an alternative to sleep, and food that wasn’t from the cafeteria was pretty great. I mean, have you tried the cinnamon rolls yet?” I babble. “I’m Marie, by the way.”

            “Fenris,” he replies. I think he’s actually smiling. Maybe just a little bit. “I haven’t yet.”

            I grin stupidly at him. “That’s almost a crime. The cinnamon rolls here are the best.”

            “I’ll have to try them some time,” he says in that raspy voice. His eyes move back to Isabela, though he doesn’t seem to be staring at her chest. “Did Velanna actually do inventory?”

            Isabela taps red fingernails against the dark skin on her chin. “Probably not.”

            Fenris grimaces. “Of course.”

            “Oh wait!” Isabela claps her hands together excitedly as she straightens. “I haven’t guessed yet today.”

            Fenris sighs loudly, and I look quizzically at Zevran, who just shrugs.

            “I’m thinking… blue.” Isabela’s eyes are narrowed, and it's the most serious I’ve ever seen her.

            Fenris just shakes his head, and I make sure to blow on my chai before raising the mug to my lips.

            “Damn it! Are you sure you’re not just going commando?” Isabela looks at Fenris’s crotch and I choke on my chai, coughing as Zevran laughs and Isabela has to reach over the counter and smack my back.

            My eyes are burning, and Fenris looks evenly at Isabela. “That’s two guesses.”

            “You’re no fun.” Isabela says sullenly as she stops thumping between my shoulders.

            “And you’re ridiculous. I think I have chai up my nose now.” I wipe my eyes with my free hand.

            Fenris laughs, a deep, raw sound.

            The bell on the door chimes and Isabela quickly adjusts her shirt as I shuffle out of the way of the register. Fenris nods to me, and I think he looks much less broody than before as he heads back toward the bookstore.

            Zev peers at me from over the pastry display. “You do look as lovely as ever, my dear Hawke. But you really must come see me more often.”

            “I had a lot of-”

            “Work, work, work. You need to relax more often.” Zev lectures. “You’re spending what little youth you have left on work!”

            “Are you saying I’m getting old?” I ask in mock offense.

            Zev taps his nose. “If I ever say you’re old, remember that I’ll be gray before you. I was simply suggesting that you should, how does the expression go… live a little?”

            I finally manage to take a successful sip of chai. “I’m living plenty. It’s just spent running around the ESC and dealing with Meredith’s new policies.” I got my job at the Exchange Student Center my sophomore year, and have been putting up with the provost’s new rules and regulations since then.

            “Isabela says you also spend a large amount of your time playing _Dragon Champion._ ” Zev points out.

            “It’s not called—never mind. Anyway, Isabela’s already informed me that I have a nonexistent social life, thank you very much.” I say as Zev digs out a cherry tart, puts it on a plate, and hands it to the lady I didn’t realize was waiting next to me.

            The woman looks at me pityingly and I flush as she walks away.

            “I _do_ have a social life.” I mutter under my breath, mostly directed toward her and not Zev. Because, honestly, Zev knows the truth.

            “Your canine does not count as a person who you visited over the summer.” Zev comments.

            I throw a glare at Isabela, who’s in the middle of making change for another customer. “You two are terrible, you know that?”

            “We’re wonderful, _bella_. You would have no fun without us.”

            I wrinkle my nose at Zev before I smile. “I _did_ miss you this summer. And I’ll admit life is much more dull without you two around.”

            “Ah, so you finally agree we are a positive force in your life.” Zev grins at me.

            “Not necessarily positive. Just… more exciting.” I drain the last bit of chai from the mug and hand it to Zev over the pastries. “I have to go. I have-”

            “Essays to write, exchange students to speak with, I know, I know.” Zev says resignedly. “But promise me one thing.”

            I eye him skeptically. “Not until I hear what the thing is.”

            “Do you really not trust me enough to promise me the thing?”

            “No! Because the thing could be anything! And knowing you, the thing could be a bad thing.” I laugh.

            “You wound me,” Zev simpers before giving me a wicked grin. “Just promise me the thing, Hawke.”

            I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Fine! I promise you the thing. Now just tell me what I agreed to. And it better not be anything weird.”

            Zev rolls his eyes. “As if I could ever suggest such things to _you_. No, the promise is simply that you will trust Isabela’s… plans.”

            “Plans?”

            “Nothing that involves stealing. Though, I suppose it could involve stealing hearts. How metaphorical.” Zev muses to himself.

            “Zev.”

            “Just listen to our voluptuous friend when she says you should come somewhere with us, or when you should not wear those horrendous sweatpants you love so much.”

            “I like those sweats!” I protest.

            Zev pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is why you need our help, my dear girl. Go on now. Don’t forget you promised.” He shoos me from behind the counter.

            “I regret that decision now.” I mutter.

            “You have work to do! Go, go.” Zev says.

            “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” I leave _Cousland’s_ and only make it a few steps outside before I’m shivering again.

            What exactly is Isabela planning? God, I'm not sure I want to know. I shouldn’t promise things anymore. Especially if they’re Zevran or Isabela things.

            My teeth chatter as I begin making my way back home.


	3. I Can Be Cool!

            I’ve made myself into a burrito as I lay on the ugly green couch that Merrill and I bought at a yard sale. The softest blanket I own is around my shoulders, and then I took the comforter from my bed and rolled around in it until my movement was restricted.

            Okay, so maybe I was wallowing and not just rolling around, but I have good reason.

            I’ve even resorted to blasting Beyonce from my laptop, which is lying on the floor next to the couch—but I’m so swaddled in blankets I can’t reach it. It’s currently playing “Love on Top” which is way too happy for me right now.

            The door creaks open, and I hear the familiar little voice call, “Hawke?”

            I flop around on the couch so I can raise my head. “Hey, Merrill.” I reply before struggling to sit up.

            “You usually dance when you listen to this music.” Merrill says seriously, moving to set on the edge of the couch, letting her canvas backpack drop to the ground. “Did your test not go well today?”

            “No,” I groan, unable to bury my face in my hands due to the way my arms are currently stuck to my sides under the blankets. “I dislike things. Specifically things that are history tests. How am I supposed to remember who Iran’s Prime Minister was in 1857?” I whine.

            Merrill pats my ankles—the only part of me not covered. “You’ve never had a very good memory, Hawke.”

            Is that supposed to be reassuring?

            I frown. “I’m going to drop out of college.”

            Merrill tilts her head thoughtfully. “What will you do instead?”

            “Become a full-time blanket burrito.” I answer immediately.

            “A… a burrito? Is that a real job?” Merrill asks, her eyebrows pulling together.

            “I’ll be a pioneer in the field of burrito-ing.” I smash my face against the slightly smelly couch cushion. “And no one will ask me about prime ministers in 1857.”

            “You do that, Hawke.” Merrill says with great conviction. “I think you’d make a wonderful burrito.”

            “Thanks, Merrill.”

            “Any time,” she answers. Honestly, I can’t tell if she’s sarcastic sometimes or just very, very naively sincere. “By the way, Isabela said there’s going to be a game of Wicked Grace tonight. Do you want to come?”

            “Mm…” I’m not sure I want to stand. Or if I could stand up even if I wanted to.

            “She said to let you know that Sebastian’s going to be there.” Merrill adds.

            “He’s back from that mission trip?” I feel myself perk up a little bit. I wriggle around until I manage to flop off the couch and onto the floor, where I unroll myself. Sebastian Vael can be preachy and too good to be true in an annoyingly pious way, but he’s also one of my favorite people. “What time are we leaving?”

            I somehow end up wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, in the front seat of Merrill’s car (which I’ve nicknamed Moany for all the terrible dying noises it makes), due to Isabela’s text to me, which was:

           

            _no sweatpants and no t-shirts, k? just be cute tonight plz. and be cool._

            I grumble at my phone screen at the message again as I check the time. “Is Isabela trying to set me up with Sebastian? Because she knows he’s like a brother. And we’re strictly platonic.”

            Merrill eyes me nervously. “Erm. No.”

            “Riiiight.” I prop my chin on my hand as we park on the street in front of _Cousland’s._ The sign on the door reads ‘Closed’, but I can see through the glass windows Varric sitting with Isabela, Sebastian, Aveline and—Fenris!

            My brain tries to take into too many things at once as we approach the café.

            _Wow! Sebastian! I get to see him again! I didn’t know Aveline was going to be here. I’m 90% sure she’s going to report back to my mother if I look like I haven’t been eating enough. OH MY GOD FENRIS. He’s here! Can Isabela’s crop top even be considered a shirt?_

“People,” is all I can manage to say to Merrill, and I feel like I must be wearing a particularly dumbfounded expression. This is probably why Isabela felt the need to tell me to be cool.

            “Yes, there’s quite a few of them.” Merrill chirps as she pulls the door open.

            I tug at the bottom of my sweater with one hand, and wave at everyone with the other as I come in.  

            “Hawke,” Aveline nods to me, a mug of coffee between her hands. “Leandra was asking me about you the other day.”

            “I’m sure she was,” I answer, having to resist rolling my eyes. Prediction correct.

            Aveline is smack between my mother and I in age and acts sometimes as my big sister, sometimes as my mom’s friend, sometimes as _my_ friend, and sometimes as the kick-ass cop she is. But always she’s always a part of our family. That’s what happens when the Hawke’s knows someone really well—the person just gets absorbed into the Hawke collective.

            Sebastian flashes me a grin and I beam happily back at him as he stands to give me a hug.

            “When did you get back?” I question as I sit down between him and Fenris. Isabela totally planned the seating arrangements, I know it. Sticking me between two incredibly attractive men would probably be amusing for anyone who likes to watch me flounder helplessly. Aveline, Isabela, and Varric occupy the booth across from us, and Merrill settles down on the chair at the head of the table.

            “On Wednesday,” Sebastian answers, and I hear Merrill ask Varric something.

            “Are you going to start up seminary school again?” Isabela drawls. “I just want to know when to _really_ start trying to corrupt you.”

            Sebastian smiles patiently at her. “I’ll be enrolled for this semester, yes.”

            Isabela winks at him. “So the games begin.”

            “Should I take bets on whether or not Choir Boy will resist Rivaini’s charms?” Varric asks.

            “Isabela doesn’t have any charms.” Aveline responds grimly. “She just has some nice tits.”

            Isabela arches an eyebrow. “But you do admit they’re nice.”

            I sigh loudly and look at Fenris—who, if anything, seems really uncomfortable. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and he’s sitting rigidly. I feel like it’s the body language I take on whenever I’m overwhelmed and feel like I don’t know what to say.

            “Tried a cinnamon roll yet?” I blurt.

            Fenris blinks, large green eyes turning on me. “What? Oh. Yes, I did.”

            “And was it heaven on a plate? All one thousand calories of buttery, gooey glory?” I continue to ramble.

            It seems to break his stony expression, though, a small smile cracking through. “It was… very sweet.”

            “That’s why it’s so great!” I feel like my voice must be really loud.

            “If you don’t shut up about Donnic I’m going to-”

            “Oh, do tell,” Isabela purrs.

            My attention is drawn back across the table as Aveline’s face flushes the same color as her hair. Varric laughs, and I can’t help but understand why Isabela could tease Aveline about Donnic. After all, we’d been there through Aveline’s awkward attempts to tell the man she had feelings for him. Ugh. The marigold move.

            “It gave me inspiration for my best-selling books, Rivaini. Try not to give her too much of a hard time,” Varric says smoothly before winking at Aveline. “Let’s start the game, or we’ll be here all night.”

            Fenris shifts next to me, and I turn to look at him. He clears his throat and says quietly, “I’ll sit this one out.”

            Varric shuffles the cards. “No worries, Broody. I convinced you to stay and told you we’d teach you—Hawke’s not too bad herself.”

            I’m actually not too bad at all. While I’m terrible at hiding my own tells, I’m also good at picking up on everyone else’s. “Yeah, I can teach you, Fenris!” I say enthusiastically.

            “Just share a hand—the rules take forever to understand.” Isabela cuts the deck for Varric.

            My eyes narrow suspiciously. “You just don’t want me to explain the rules so there will be one less person to call you out when you cheat.”

            “Me? Cheat?” Isabela asks innocently. “Only twice a game!”

            Merrill looks at Isabela curiously. “I thought you were just _bending_ the rules a bit. Not cheating.”

            “It’s the same thing, Kitten.” Isabela coos.

            I wrinkle my nose at her before looking at Fenris. I notice for the first time, since I’m actually looking at him and thinking instead of looking and freaking out, that his white tattoos go up to his chin. Wow. His face is… wow.

            “You don’t need to explain anything on my account,” he says, scratching the back of his head.

            I realize I’ve just been staring at him. “Oh! No, it’s fine! Fine, as in, I’d love to teach you how to play!” There goes the loud enthusiasm again.

            Varric deals the cards and I lean over just a bit closer to Fenris to mutter explanations, show him the cards we have. He seems to radiate body heat, and he smells like coffee.

            _He smells like coffee? Stop. Being. Creepy._

            We’re actually not doing too badly once the game begins. Merill’s out first—she’s always out first—and then Aveline.

            Fenris gives that raw, deep chuckle when I point at Isabela. “That was discarded. Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

            Isabela sighs. “You caught me, you caught me.” She puts the card back into the discard pile.

            “That wasn’t the same card,” Fenris murmurs to me.

            “Isabela!” I squawk indignantly.

            “Damn it. You two have eyes like a hawk.” Isabela pouts as she replaces what I hope was the card she originally took from the discard pile.

            Fenris looks at me curiously, seeming more relaxed now. “Is that how they started calling you ‘Hawk’? From not letting them cheat at cards?”

            “It’s her name.” Merrill answers for me, her elbows propped on the table.

            Fenris frowns in confusion, and I think I actually feel my heart skip a beat at how ridiculously adorable he looks when he’s not grumpy and brooding. “Marie is a nickname?”

            “Marie Hawke,” I explain as I glance over the cards and show them to Fenris. “Merrill met me when I was working in the Exchange Student Center, and my nametag was just my last name. It just sort of… stuck with everyone else.”

            “I see,” Fenris says as his eyes move over the cards, and we both realize we have a terrible hand. “And Rivaini?”

            “The city where Isabela’s from,” I explain, racking my brain as what to do with the cards. “Sebastian’s Choir Boy for… obvious reasons. Then there’s Daisy for Merrill and Aveline’s just Aveline.”

            “And Fenris is Broody.” Varric says, placing his cards face down on the table. “I mean, if his brooding were any more impressive, women would swoon as he passed. They’d have broody babies in his honor.”

            I giggle loudly, but Fenris stares at Varric. “I don’t brood," he says broodily. 

            Varric sighs as I decide after a little bit that we should fold. That’s when I hear Sebastian explain with a strained voice, “I don’t think that ‘tree whispering’ would be a strong business to try opening, Merrill.”

            Merrill crosses her little arms over her chest. “If Hawke can become a burrito, I can be a tree whisperer.”

            I can feel everyone turn their heads and look at me. “A burrito? Really, Hawke?” Aveline asks with clear exasperation.

            “A blanket burrito!” I clarify indignantly. “I make the best blanket burrito ever. Merrill can vouch for me.”

            Merrill nods seriously. “She does. She said she’d be a pioneer in the field.”

            “So there.” I say. “It’s my plan B for if I can’t make it through this semester of school. Merrill can whisper to trees or whatever she wants to do, too. It'll be great.”

            Aveline groans loudly. “What am I going to do with you?”

            “Embrace the burrito.” I say in a low voice, and Fenris laughs again.

            I really like his laugh.

            And, all creepiness aside, I like that he smells like coffee, too.

            Isabela ends up winning, and we stand outside in the chilly night air as Varric finishes locking up the place.

            I throw my arms around Isabela’s waist and she complains, “You’re stealing all the heat away.”

            “That’s the intended purpose.” I say, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

            “This was a nice way to come back to Kirkwall,” Sebastian smiles serenely.

            I shiver. “ _If_ there’s a nice way to come back to Kirkwall at all.”

            Sebastian chuckles. “True. But Wicked Grace is always enjoyable. We should do this more often than we have in the past.”

            “Mhmm.” Isabela says. “Next time, I’m hoping someone will be fun enough to actually bet their clothes.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

            “Slattern.” Aveline mutters.

            Sebastian shakes his head, before his eyes brighten under the street light. “Fenris, I don’t think we exchanged numbers.”

            “I suppose we did not.” Fenris answers, his hands in the pockets of his coat.

            Isabela elbows me in the ribs. “Hey!” I retract my hands from around her waist, wondering how she isn’t cold in her miniscule crop top.

            Isabela glares at me, and I blink in realization. Oh. I could get Fenris’s number. _Be cool, Marie. Be cool._

            “We should text to coordinate Wicked Grace nights!” I half-shout.

            Fenris just looks at me and nods, and I’m pretty sure that I now match Aveline’s hair.

            I yank my phone out of my pocket, type in his number as he gives it to Sebastian and I, and hit ‘save contact’.

            Then I give him my number, and wonder immediately if I messed up the order of the digits. Great.

            Varric joins us on the sidewalk just as another gust of cold wind blows by, and we wave goodbye as I run to Merrill’s car and climb into the seat.

            Merrill plays her weird hipster music on the way back to the apartment and warbles along. I feel tired, but in the good way. And kind of warm and fuzzy on the inside. My phone buzzes and I see Isabela’s texted me.

 

            _kitten, we need to work on what ‘be cool’ means. but good work. thank seb later for the number move. he did it for youuuuuu. now i just need him to do some things for meeeeee. ;)_

 

I shake my head at the screen. Isabela's not going to let the seminary school thing go. But... why would Sebastian ask for Fenris’s number for me? And the whole seating arrangement…

            “Merrill.” I say suddenly, having to speak loudly over the wailing music.

            “Yes, Hawke?” She asks, dialing down the volume.

            “Is Isabela trying to set me up with Fenris?”

            Merrill coughs and stops for a red light. “I don’t know, Hawke. She may or may not have said something about maybe helping you out a bit with him.”

            “God have mercy on my soul.” I mutter under my breath.

            That was the thing. The thing Zevran made me promise.

            “I’m not inept enough to need Isabela’s help at finding someone to be with.” I grouch, but then I remember that because of Isabela and Sebastian, I now have Fenris’s number.

            “I don’t even know him that well! Isabela doesn’t need to help me out with anything. Because there’s no guarantee that Fenris and I could even be… a… a thing.”

            “She said you would make excuses if you knew what she was doing.” Merrill says solemnly.

            “They’re not excuses.”

            “Of course, Hawke. Not excuses at all.”

            I _hmph_ to myself and look out the window before asking, “Don’t you think his laugh is really great, though?”

           


	4. Stop. Talking. SeriouslystoptalkingMarie.

            “And then Meredith threatened to cut Professor Orsino’s funding! I’m getting my damn thesis in that department!” I’m ranting loudly, gesturing wildly in Merrill’s car as I slouch in the seat and pull my knees to my chest.

            I’m sure my mother would say it’s very dangerous. But at the moment, I’m just extremely pissed off at Kirkwall University’s Provost, Meredith Stannard.

            Merrill doesn’t see to really be listening as she goes, “Mm, yes. How very terrible.”

            I grumble to myself for a moment before getting a grip and straightening up in my seat. “Don’t we need to pick up Tamlen?”

            “He’s still not feeling well,” Merrill answers sadly, hunched over the wheel. She frequently drives like a little old lady, which she does now as she changes lanes and forgets to turn her blinker off.

            “Is he eating those weird plants from the garden again?” I ask, before adding, “Merrill. Blinkers.”

            “Oh! Right. And they’re not weird plants, Hawke. Well, they do look a little strange, but that’s beside the point.”

            “You couldn’t figure out what they were. Even with a google search.” I point out, raising my eyebrows and welcoming a distraction from thinking of the Provost.

            Merrill frowns at the road as she lurches onto Hanged Man Street—it’s in Lowtown, which may not be the best area, but Isabela and Varric always say it has ‘character’. And by ‘character’, I’m sure they mean _the muggings are charming and the drunks are just so quaint._

Their apartment complex is right across from the Hanged Man Bar, which serves very terrible, very cheap drinks.

            “—and he didn’t have a rash of any sort! It could very well have been that his body just wasn’t used to it. Or it wasn’t the plants at all.” Merrill’s saying.

            I realize that I missed half of her defense and decide to just nod. “That’s true. Just don’t ask me to eat unidentifiable foliage.”

            Merrill looks at me from the corner of her eyes as she does a terrible job of parking in front of the apartments. “Er…”

            “Merrill?”

            “Don’t eat that quiche I made earlier today.”

            I sigh, but it’s quickly followed by a snort and a fond look at Merrill. “It’s all yours.”

            We take the stairs up to the second floor, walking through the dim lighting in the otherwise dark night. Isabela’s at the door only seconds after we knock with a wide grin on her face and a bottle of rum in her hand.

            “Look who finally joined the party!” Isabela passes the rum to me as we walk into her apartment, kicking our shoes off as we go.

            Her living room is tiny, with a couch against the back wall and a coffee table in front of it. Varric, Aveline, and Donnic sit on the couch together (and I bet they played the age card), while Zevran is sprawled on the floor, Seb next to him, and—Fenris too.

            My heart jumps a little when he looks up at me and gives this little, closed-lip smile.

            _Pathetic, Marie._

I mean, I’ve seen him once in the last two weeks since our game of Wicked Grace, but it doesn’t make me any less jittery to see him.

            And I don’t like that I’m all jittery. There’s definitely no need to start falling in puppy love with a man I hardly know. And I have plenty of other things to worry about. Like working on my thesis. Which may have all funding cut.

            God, now I just feel worse.

Isabela clears her throat next to me, and when I look at her it’s written all over her face that she can tell I was worrying about something. Her response is to hand me the rum. “I have sugar cookies, kitten. So drink away.”

            “We thought you weren’t coming,” Zevran pouts dramatically as Merrill and I squeeze between him and Sebastian.

            “Merrill wanted to make a quiche with some fresh ingredients. Can you guess what they were?”

            Zevran laughs as he asks, “Certain mystery herbs from Tamlen’s backyard?”

            I nod, and Merrill huffs. Aveline goes into lecture mode, to which Merrill retorts, “Well, if it’s toxic, I didn’t use enough for it to be fatal!”

            Aveline groans in frustration and Sebastian buries his head in his hands.

            Fenris just looks at Merrill like she has something growing out of her forehead. He seems a little more comfortable now—still tense, but not all coiled up to the point he looked ready to bolt at any moment. His shoulders, at the very least, aren’t as protectively hunched.

            _Aaand, I’m staring again._

“How have you been, Fenris?!” I blurt suddenly. I’m still holding the rum and have to make a huge effort not to wave my hands around with excitement.

            Fenris blinks at me. “Fine, I suppose.”

            _Great._

Isabela returns with a box of cookies, and I take a swig of the incredibly dry rum from the bottle and shove an entire cookie in my mouth.

            Because I’m classy like that.

            It’s how Isabela and I have been drinking since we became friends—take a shot, eat a sugar cookie to get the taste out of your mouth.

            “He’s been broody, as usual,” Varric puts in. “Even Velanna said, and I quote, ‘I’ve never met someone more sullen than me. He wins.’”

            Fenris scowls for a moment while Zevran snorts and nods in agreement.

            “That’s so not true,” I protest. “I’ve never even see Velanna smile before!”

            “And you’ve seen Broody smile?” Varric asks.

            “Of course I have! Velanna, however, has yet to do anything but glare at me every time I see her.” I don’t mention that I think Fenris’s smile is really adorable—or really hot, depending on the moment it’s given.

            “I think that’s just her natural face, kitten.” Isabela says.

            Somehow, we don’t end up playing Wicked Grace at all. We just talk a lot, laughing. Varric and Fenris talk about Varric’s writing, Isabela and Zevran whisper and give conspiratorial looks while Sebastian explains to Merrill how pope’s are named (or rather, Sebastian gives sarcastic answers in serene voice and Merrill now thinks that Pope Sixtus got his name because he had six toes).

            I ask Aveline and Donnic about work—and Aveline pesters me about getting more work done on my thesis and seeing Isabela less.

            It’s when the bottle of rum returns to me from Isabela that I realize then I might be a little too warm to be drinking any more. I’m still steady, though, and I stand up and promptly trip over Merrill.

            “Oh, sorry! Sorry, Merrill!” I say quickly, wondering if I should blame my general clumsiness or the rum.

            Either way, it’s becoming uncomfortably hot and I sidle out to Isabela’s tiny balcony. It overlooks Hanged Man Street, where I can see a totally wasted man weave down the sidewalk. The air, however, is cool enough to make me feel like I’m not about to have a heatstroke in the middle of the fall.

            The drunk man is now dancing around a lamppost, and I giggle as I watch him. He looks about thirty or so—and he’s alone on a Friday night, trying to waltz with a lighting fixture. I wonder if he has anyone to dance with back at home.

            The door slides open and I turn to see Fenris stepping out on the balcony, his feet bare on the unfinished surface.

            “Watch your step—splinters.” I say quickly, my own thick socks probably not doing all that much to protect me from getting wood fragments jammed into my heel.

            “Mm,” Fenris answers, and he seems like maybe he’s had a little too much to drink as well. But maybe not, seeing as he steps lightly over to lean on the railing and look over into the street.

            I finally start to shiver. “Can’t even get some fresh air without Kirkwall freezing you to death,” I mutter to myself.

            Fenris, however, turns to look back at me. The cramped little balcony doesn’t allow us to have much space between us—side comments don’t stay as side comments. “You don’t seem to be particularly fond of Kirkwall.”

            I shrug. “It’s home now, so I guess I’m fond of it in a begrudging kind of way. It’s one of Kirkwall’s charms, as Varric and Isabela would say. You get stuck in the shithole for long enough, and you hate it so much it’s almost endearing.”

            Fenris chuckles at that. “I suppose I haven’t been here long enough to feel the same way.”

            “It sneaks up on you. Like a really obnoxious sneeze,” I share conspiratorially, and Fenris raises his eyebrows.

            “Is that so?”

            I laugh at my own terrible analogy while trying to keep from shivering in the night chill. “You’ll see what I mean. Have you not been in Kirkwall for long?”

            Fenris shakes his head, finally pulling away from the balcony. “No, just for a few months.”

            “Do you plan on staying here for a while?” I wrap my arms around myself for a little bit of warmth, now wishing that I’d had enough rum to stave off the cold.

            “I haven’t decided,” his voice is quiet when he answers. “For now it’s as good as any other place.”

            “Really? There’s nowhere else you’d like to go?”

            Fenris blinks at me for a few moments. “I suppose… I would return to Seheron if I could make a living there.”

            “Seheron?” I rack my brain and try to remember maps I’ve seen before. It’s an… island… close to Australia? Is that right? _This is why you failed that geography test in the third grade, Marie._ “Are you from there?”

            Fenris looks back down to the street again, and his shoulders seem to hunch just a little bit. He’s uncomfortable again. “So I’ve been told.”

            “So you’ve been—” I immediately decide to stop asking personal questions. They seemed perfectly harmless, but of course I managed to make things awkward. He doesn’t want to talk about where he’s from, and I’m probably prying. “I was from Ferelden—this not so big city that's even colder than here. And I never really travelled much. So maybe I just have a romantic idea of seeing new places. I mean, the world’s really big and Zev’s already told me so much about Spain I really just want to go. And then I’ve had to study so many other countries for different classes, but I’ve never actually _been_ to any, you know? Not that I’m a small-town girl who has zero worldly experience. Well, maybe a little bit.”

            _Oh. My. God. Stop rambling. Stop it._

Fenris looks at me curiously, and I cringe, “I should probably stop telling you my life story now before I move into the classic 'my dog has three middle names' shpeel.”

            He laughs softly. “Three?”

            I blurt it all out. “Fluffy Creampuff Sweetie Ravager Hawke.”

            “Are you serious?”

            I bury my face in my hands. “Yes. I chose Fluffy, my sister wanted Creampuff or Sweetie, and my brother wanted to name him Ravager. So we compromised. And by compromised, I was the oldest so I got to do the first name, and I made Carver and Beth do rock-paper-scissors about whose name came next. Of course, Carver calls him Ravager, Beth calls him Creampuff, and I call him Fluffy. I think poor Fluffy is constantly having an identity crisis. Not that I blame him. He probably thinks his name is 'Down, boy!' since that's the thing people say the most to him. That's actually kind of sad. Maybe it's time to come to a consensus on a name. Just ten years too late, I think.”

            A loud, raspy laugh makes me peek through my fingers. Moonlight glints off of his silver hair, and the tattoos on his chin and down his neck almost seem to glow. But what really gets me his smile. Velanna can never compete with it, that’s for sure.

            “Hawke, Broody—we’re about to open a new bottle.” The screen door slides open and Varric pokes his head out to the balcony.

            “Shall we?” Fenris asks.

            I nod. “Definitely. And before I start telling you other embarrassing stories about my family.”

            “There are plenty of them,” Varric chimes in helpfully as we step back inside the warmth of the apartment.

            “Thanks, Varric.” I sigh.

            “Any time, Hawke.” He winks at me before heading back to the couch to re-claim his spot.

            Fenris, however, just chuckles quietly to himself and I grin like an idiot that he’s not completely put off by the Hawke-rambling.

            I sit down next to Isabela and she gives me a sultry wink.

            And then, of course, I have to remind myself that I don’t want Isabela to set me up with Fenris. Because I have lots of other things to do.

            “Hawke,” Aveline calls my name as she takes a sip from her wine glass. “You never told me what your back-up option was if funding was cut in your department.”

            Yeah. Lots of stuff to do.

            I hold back a groan and say, “I don’t know. Freaking Meredith.”


	5. That's A... Nice Coat You've Got There

            I try squinting at the words on the screen. They become a little less blurry, but no miraculous insights jump out at me. I bury my face in my hands for a few moments and attempt to breathe deeply.

            “Are you waiting for Isabela?”

            A gravelly voice pulls me from my pity party. I blink up at Fenris, who has a black beanie pulled over his hair and is gracefully slipping into a long coat.

            “Yeah. She said she’d be locking up after she’s done cleaning in the back.” I rub my eyes, trying not to ogle at the adorableness that is Fenris in a beanie. It’s probably to keep his ears warm in Kirkwall’s horrendous November wind. I discovered last week (thanks to Isabela’s teasing) that Fenris has fairly large ears. I mean, they’re not like Tantor the elephant status, but they’re long and thin. He turned bright red when Isabela pointed it out, but they actually look perfect with his face. I mean, anything would look perfect-

            _And now you’re ogling, Marie._

“Are you heading out?” I ask, as I intelligently observe that he finished putting on his coat. I take another bite of a burnt scone Isabela had offered me.

            Fenris shrugs. “The bus doesn’t come for another few minutes. And I’d prefer not to stand out in that for too long.” He nods toward the window.

            The wind howls loudly, and it’s a paper cup that smacks into _Cousland’s_ window this time. “You don’t feel like getting pelted with Kirkwall’s debris?”

            He smiles thinly. “Not at the moment. What are you working on?”

            “I was _trying_ to work on a final paper. Key word being ‘trying’.” I make air-quotes dramatically before rubbing my eyes. “I think my head is going to explode. You might be in the brain-bit splatter zone right now.”

            Fenris gives a little snort as he sits down across from me. “I’ll take my chances.”

            “Brave words coming from a man in a nice coat.” I say.

            Fenris raises an eyebrow.

_._            “It _is_ a nice coat.” I affirm. “I mean, you look really great in it. Really…”

            Why do I open my mouth sometimes?

“Black is your color!” I exclaim as Fenris blinks at me in surprise. “I mean, the beanie and the coat and… well, you mostly wear black actually. That’s _Cousland’s_ uniform policy, right?” I stuff the remainder of the scone in my mouth, and avoid looking Fenris directly in the eye. There’s a scratch on the faux marble tabletop that is suddenly incredibly fascinating.

            “Varric doesn’t really enforce much of a dress code. I don’t think it would work on Isabela.” Fenris says wryly.

            I glance back at him to see he’s got his typical neutral (slightly brooding) expression on, though there’s definitely more color in his tanned cheeks.

            _Why, Marie?_

“What, you don’t think the days that Isabela forgets to wear pants are part of some dress policy? You know, ‘On Wednesdays, we don’t wear pants’.”

            “Unlikely,” Fenris smirks.

            “I never forget to wear pants, kitten.” Isabela calls from the back. “It’s always intentional.”

            I roll my eyes before realizing that she’d been eavesdropping. Of course she’d been eavesdropping. “Isabela, are you actually doing anything back there?”

            “Why don’t you two come join me and find out?” Isabela responds immediately (and suggestively), but she appears behind the counter and hops over it.

            “What a shame, we missed our opportunity.” I deadpan.

            Isabela _tsks_ me. “I was just cleaning. What were you thinking? Naughty girl.”

            “Really, Isabela?” I splutter, before being saved by my phone ringing.

            It’s Bethany, and I answer as I pack up my laptop and crumple the napkin with scone crumbs on it. “Hey, Bethy.”

            “Hey, Sis.” Bethany replies, but there’s something a little too tight in her voice with just those two words.

            Sister instincts kick in, and I say, “Are you somewhere you can talk right now?”

            “Yeah. Just in my room.” There’s the sound of her flopping on her bed, the springs protesting loudly. It was my bed when I lived there, so I’m very familiar with all the sounds—and the lumps in the mattress, for that matter.

            “What’s going on?”

            Bethany sniffs dejectedly before sighing, and Isabela mouths something at me, which I ignore as I scuttle out of _Cousland’s_ and into the cold, Fenris right behind me.

            “Uncle Gamlen’s over. For the weekend.”

            “Ouch,” I wince on her behalf. “Is he trying to wheedle more cash out of Mom again?”

            “That seems to be the pattern,” Bethany answers glumly. “He and Carver had a yelling match just an hour ago. And Uncle Gamlen’s only _been_ here for an hour.”

            I watch as the lights go out in the café. “Do you want to come stay with me? Merrill never minds. I can make you spaghetti.”

            “Is Beth coming over to your place?” Isabela’s suddenly speaking directly into my ear.

            I gasp and flail for a few moments before turning back to the grinning woman.

            “Marie? Are you alright?” Bethany’s concerned voice comes through my phone.

            I glare at Isabela as I answer, “Isabela just tried to scare me to death. She wanted to know if you were coming over, and decided to sneak up on me.”

            “It was hardly sneaking, kitten. I can’t help that you’re oblivious.” Isabela says sweetly.

            I choose to ignore her again. “Just let me know, Bethany.”

            Bethany’s tone is brighter as she says, “How about tomorrow morning? We can bake muffins, and I’ll bring some chai over.”

            My teeth are chattering now, but Isabela’s turned to talk with Fenris. Her car is parked down the street, and I gaze at it longingly. “I’ll make you the chocolate chip muffins if you’re bribing me with steaming hot chai.” I tell Bethany. “Do you need a ride over?”

            “I’ll have Carver drop me off so Mom can still use it if she needs to.” She says happily. “There’s also some stuff I want to talk to you about tomorrow. Love you, Sis!”

            “What stuff?” I ask sharply. “Bethany, that’s ominous. What stuff?”

            The call is already ended. I grumble under my breath as I stuff my phone, and my frozen hands, into my pockets.

            “So is my favorite ray of sunshine coming over tonight, or not?” Isabela is at my side again.

            “Not tonight.” I say. “But I’ll be making muffins in the morning if you want to come over then.”

            Isabela grins. “Of course I want to. How would I ever miss a Hawke’s baking?”

            “You don’t want to eat anything Carver touches. Ever.” I counter.

            Fenris has moved toward the edge of the sidewalk, next to the bus stop sign. “Fenris, how do you feel about chocolate chip muffins?” I ask.

            “They’re… good?” He looks almost confused by the question.

            Isabela waves her hand around airily before tossing her arm around his shoulder, and I can see that he tenses. I noticed more and more that he really doesn’t like to be touched. Whether it’s an accident brush of the hand from Sebastian, or Merrill cluelessly clinging to his arm, he always seems to flinch away from the contact.

            I, on the other hand, am a Hawke. Which means hugs for everyone, all the time. But I’ve been careful not to do the Hawke-greetings with Fenris. I take after my dad on that. So does Bethany. It’s just Carver who doesn’t. It’s always Carver.

            “Hawke’s muffins are the best in Kirkwall!” Isabela practically sings, though she’s removed her arm. She stares at my chest now. “They may not be particularly voluptuous, but you really just have to sink your teeth into them to appreciate—”

            “Isabela!” I shout, heat rushing to my face. She’s betrayed me. She’s betrayed my trust. I hate her. I completely hate her. “Could you please just… Oh my God.”

            Isabela shrugs innocently. “What? You make great muffins, even if they’re the mini.”

            She knows very well I’ve only made mini-muffins once. Once!

            “I’m going to bring chocolate chip _muffins_ to Cousland’s tomorrow night. If you’re working.” I tell Fenris as the bus appears in the distance, all while fixing Isabela with a murderous glare.

            “I have the late shift this weekend, so I’ll be there.” Fenris is shaking his head at Isabela as well. “I believe Velanna will be working as well.”

            “Maybe a Hawke-muffin will melt Velanna’s icy, heavily tattooed heart.” Isabela suggests. The bus screeches to a stop in front of us, and Isabela croons, “Bye, Fenris!”

            Fenris sighs, giving a little wave to us before stepping quickly up the steps, the bus departing in a cloud of exhaust.

            “Isabela—”

            “Hawke, you got flustered complimenting his _coat_.” Isabela says meaningfully as we begin walking toward her car.

            I wrinkle my nose. “So you had to go make it better by taking about my muffins?” I gesture to my (admittedly pretty flat) chest for emphasis.

            “Oh, Kitten,” Isabela pats my shoulder before she unlocks the car and I climb into the passenger seat. “You and Fenris have been in the same place for a month now!”

            “So?” I defend myself as she turns on the ignition and the car purrs to life. Isabela’s car is really nice, but that’s all I can really say with my limited knowledge. I’m sure Isabela could talk all day about the engine, though.

            Isabela pulls away from the curb before saying gently, “I know you took the break-up with Anders really hard—”

            “It’s not about Anders.”

            There’s a beat of silence before I sigh. “It’s really not. I’m fine with where Fenris and I are. Which is just… acquaintances? Come on Isabela, I’m happy complimenting his jackets for the next year if that means I don’t have to deal with figuring out what we are, or taking my limited energy and spending it on worrying about our nonexistent relationship.”

            “Mm. There it is.” Isabela’s voice is softer now as she glances at me. “Hawke, you don’t have to be in a relationship with Fenris. This is coming from me—there’s no pressure for that. You know I don’t do the _love_ part of things.”

            “I’m not looking for a hook-up either,” I gripe. “I’m perfectly happy as is.”

            Isabela makes an extremely quick turn and I have to hold on to the edges of my seat. “Which is why you get that adorable smile on your face and go starry-eyed whenever you see him. It’s almost too cute for me to stomach.”

            “Your driving is too much for me to stomach,” I mutter under my breath.

            “Oh, just enjoy the ride.” Isabela answers with a grin before saying nonchalantly, “I’ve been trying to push you two together for the last month because you seemed to be so interested in him. Would it kill you to flirt a little bit with the man?”

            “I thought you didn’t like it when I said he looked great in his coat.” I retort.

            “God help us all if that’s what you think is flirting. Are you going to pull an Aveline next? Please forego the marigolds.”

            That makes me laugh, and I wriggle around to get more comfortable. “I promise I won’t do marigolds. But only if you promise not to talk about my muffins anymore.”

            Isabela snorts. “Which ones?”

            “Oh, shut up.”

            “Don’t forget, you promised you’d cooperate.” Isabela slams on her breaks in front of my apartment complex.

            “That was not a promise. Zev tricked me!” I protest loudly as I unbuckle and scramble out of her car.

            “I had him to it because I know how seriously you take promises, Hawke. Don’t make me pinky-swear with you on this.” Isabela uses her best threatening voice, which is actually a little scary. “Anyway, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for muffins with sweet Beth!”

            I look at her skeptically. “Bright and early for you is noon—and that’s when you’re not hung-over.”

            “For my sunshine, I’ll make it up at the crack of dawn.” Isabela winks.

            “Right.” I swing the door shut and run up the three flights of stairs to Merrill and I’s apartment to get out of the cold—and still manage to get attacked by a flying newspaper.

            Damn Kirkwall weather.


	6. I Will Fight for Pumpkin Pie

            Thanksgiving with the Hawke family is like a circus combined with an eating contest. Well, the eating contest is mostly just Carver shoving his face full of pie while Bethany and I yell at him to leave some for the rest of us.

            Aveline and Varric have been coming over for the last three years—Isabela and Merrill for two years. This Thanksgiving, it’s the four of them, Donnic, Sebastian, and Fenris. Well, Gamlen’s here too, but he’s mostly around to argue with my mother about the inheritance fund.

            “I’m telling you, Leandra, the lot is in one of the most high-value neighborhoods in the city. They’re not going to sell it back to you even close to the original price,” Gamlen watches my mother pull sweet potato casserole out of the oven.

            Mom’s been trying to buy back the Amell family home for the last few months (ever since we discovered Gamlen is a cheap liar who tried to keep all the money my grandparents left for Mom). And Gamlen keeps trying to convince her not to do it. Because that would take away from the funds he wants to put towards gambling.

            “Uncle Gamlen, I think Beth could use some help with the turkey,” I prod.

            Gamlen _hmphs_ loudly at me before going over to the table where Bethany is stabbing the turkey repeatedly.

            My mother gives me a grateful look as I carry the green beans to the table. Varric is setting out wine glasses and Fenris and Carver are hilariously attempting to set the table. Carver throws one of Mom’s fancy napkins down, and Fenris goes behind him, folding the napkin neatly and then placing the fork and knife.

            I sigh, placing the green beans closest to where Merrill’s sitting. Hawkes are meat-eaters through and through, and we frequently find green leafy things to be quite offending.

            Aveline and Donnic bring in four bottles of white wine from where they were chilling on the back porch. “Isabela, have anything to say about why one of the bottles is already open?” Aveline calls.

            Isabela sticks her head out from the kitchen, raising a wine glass with an impish wink. “Nothing to say at all, Big Girl.”

            Aveline glares, but Varric just passes Aveline a glass and says, “Drink up now or forever hold your peace. It’ll be gone before you know it.”

            Sebastian surfaces from the kitchen as well, helping my mother carry the stuffing and sweet potato casserole to the table (which is actually our regular table, our folding table, and an end table shoved together with extra chairs around it all).

            I shuffle over next to Fenris and Carver to make room. Fenris’s eyes are wide as he asks me quietly, “Do you actually eat all of this?”

            “No,” I use my head to gesture at Carver. “ _He_ eats all of it.”

            Fenris does a poor job of hiding a smile as Carver scowls. “I do not. Last year—”

            “You ate all of the pumpkin pie!” I shout with renewed anger. “All of it!”

            Carver takes a step back, though there’s no room and he just runs into one of the folding chairs. “I didn’t realize no one else had a piece yet.”

            “How could you not? If you start eating a whole pie, and eat _every slice_ , that means no one else had a chance.” I try to squeeze past Fenris to threaten Carver, only to trip over Fenris.

            He catches me around the waist and steadies me as Carver makes it around to the other side of the table and sits with a surly expression. Not even a bit guilty!

            I grumble under my breath before realizing that Fenris still has his hands on my hips because we’re pressed against each other, stuck between the table and the wall with a space that really only one person should be standing in.

            Thinking of how uncomfortable he seems to be with others touching him, I try to back up, only to smack into the same chair I’d tripped over.

            “Sorry,” I apologize quickly. Fenris drops his hands, blinking at me. I babble, “Carver ate the entire pumpkin pie by himself last Thanksgiving, and Aveline and I almost murdered him. Isabela had to break up the fight. _Isabela_. You know when she’s the voice of reason, all hell has broke loose.”

            “Fighting over pie? This isn’t how I pictured American Thanksgiving. Or maybe it is,” Fenris shakes his head as Aveline smacks Carver behind the head muttering about him being a pig.

            I grin at Fenris. “It wouldn’t be a Hawke Thanksgiving if there _wasn’t_ arm-wrestling over food involved.”

            Fenris huffs a short laugh at that, and we squeeze into the chairs behind us.

            Somehow, we all fit in around the table. There’s lots of elbowing involved. And the turkey is a bit… mutilated from Bethany’s attempts to carve it, but it tastes perfect all the same.

            My mother is completely in love with Varric and Merrill, and she seems to have taken to Sebastian as well. The four of them chat about the house my mother is trying to buy back, with Sebastian encouraging her to keep trying, Varric giving advice, and Merrill asking how she plans on decorating it.

            Fenris and I make whispered bets about how many plates Carver’s going to fill and devour. Isabela’s breaking out the bottles of wine that she brought over by the time Sebastian and I carry out the pies from where they were hidden from Carver in the kitchen.

            I bicker with Carver over the last piece of pumpkin and of course, he wins when we arm-wrestle for it. Isabela and Merrill watch us like we’re the most fascinating form of entertainment they’ve ever seen.

            “Don’t get too comfortable with victory, Carver. Next year, I’m going to win.” I warn him, carrying a stack of dishes into the kitchen.

            That’s where I find Fenris staring at the painting we have above our counter.

            “My dad painted that,” I say, depositing the dishes in the sink.

            Fenris glances at me before returning his attention to the painting. It’s an oil on canvas of the galaxy, all with vibrant colors blurring together, stars twinkling.

            “It’s beautiful,” Fenris says quietly.

            I nod. “My dad used to say that art was like magic. Whether you were painting, carving, writing—you start off with words and colors inside your head and bring it out to create something beautiful.”

            “He’s very talented.”

            “Yeah,” I look at the painting and smile. “He was.”

            Fenris’s head snaps toward me. “Oh—of course. I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” I answer quickly. I don’t like it when people apologize for someone else dying. It’s never made much sense. “He died when I was ten. MS complications. This was one of his last paintings before he couldn’t use his hands. It’s our favorite, too. Beth and I always liked astronomy a lot. Well, we liked the stargazing part. And we weren’t very good at painting, at any rate. Didn’t you say you painted?” I’m rambling again, fortunately remembering a conversation he and Isabela had when she was describing one of her more erotic pieces in great detail.

            Fenris stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. “I used to. It’s what I studied when I was at Uni.”

            “Really? You got your degree in art?” I’m not actually that surprised. Fenris radiates the brooding artsy type, even if he tries to deny the brooding part.

            He looks at his feet now, and I internally cringe at whatever I said to make him uncomfortable. But he surprises me with actually answering, “I didn’t actually finish. I—there was an accident. I fell down a flight of stairs. Head trauma, surgery—my hair grew back white. I tried going back to classes afterwards, but it didn’t work out. So I dropped out.”

            “And you stopped painting, too?” The questions pops out before I can stop it. I don’t like prying, particularly when it comes to Fenris. But I don’t exactly know how to process the whole brain surgery thing.

            He tenses. _Damn it, Marie. This is why you think before you speak._ Fenris looks intently at the painting again. “There was someone who had commissioned me. To paint for him. And I did it for a while, but… I stopped.”

            I feel my eyebrows pull together and have to force myself to stop asking questions. There’s something so heavy about the way he’s talking. His words are light, but his shoulders are hunched with some unspoken weight. “You know, Merrill’s going to be disappointed.”

            Fenris looks at me in surprise. “What?”

            I roll my eyes. “She told me you must have white hair because you were kissed by a snow spirit.”

            Fenris’s face turns incredulous. “Does she actually believe that?”

            “Completely and totally.”

            He snorts. “I don’t understand her.”

            “You and me both,” I laugh, and Fenris relaxes with the change of subject. I roll up the sleeves of my dress and turn to the sink. “If you want to see if there’s any pecan pie left, Carver might’ve actually stopped eating by now.”

            But Fenris is suddenly right next to me, holding the dishtowel. “I don’t think there’ll be any food left on the table.”

            “You really don’t need to clean, Fenris. You can go join Isabela in getting totally wasted. She’ll bust out the Mariah Carey Christmas song renditions next.” I plug the sink and turn on the hot water, reaching grab mom’s seasonal _Winter Fresh_ dish soap and start squeezing it into the water.

            “I’ll pass on that,” Fenris chuckles. “And I’d rather be in here with you.”

            My heart skips a beat.

            _Did he just say that? He just said that._

“Er, Hawke?”

            “Shit!” I’ve squeezed almost half the bottle of dish soap into the sink and the bubbles are frothing over. “Of all the—Damn it.” I turn the water off, reaching through the suds. My arm is now covered in bubbles, and when I flap my hand in an attempt to remove them, they go floating through the air.

            “Would you like the towel?” Fenris asks, though the amusement is very apparent in his voice.

            Some of the bubbles drift into my face, and I wrinkle my nose as they pop against my skin. Others end up on Fenris’s hair.

            I start to reach to brush them off, but pause, hand awkwardly held between us. “You have a crown of _Winter Fresh_ bubbles, Fenris,” I inform him, trying to ignore how close we’re standing to each other.

            “It was probably the snow spirit,” Fenris mutters, not moving away.

            I giggle, and reach slowly up to his head, giving him time to step back. My heart continues to thump in my chest as I gently sweep my fingers through his hair, removing all the bubbles. His hair is silky, and my brain supplies the question, _wonder what shampoo he uses._

            It’s not until Fenris exhales deeply that I realize he was holding his breath. When I look from the top of his head to his eyes, they’re the typical beautiful green—but soft. His lips curve up as I carefully let my hand fall back to my side.

            “All traces of the snow spirit are removed, but Merrill will continue to suspect you,” I say, biting back a grin.

            “What will I suspect?” Merrill’s voice floats through the kitchen as she appears in the hall.

            “Absolutely nothing.” I answer quickly, and Fenris shakes his head.

            I grab a sponge and start plunging dishes into the mountain of bubbles as Merrill grabs herself a can of Diet Coke.

            “Oh! Hawke, your mother said that you would have to drive everyone back tonight. Apparently Isabela challenged Aveline to a drinking game and now everyone is completely drunk!” Merrill sways a little bit as she speaks.

            “Including you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

            “Oh, maybe a little bit.” Merrill has a very hard time opening the tab on the Coke can. “Sebastian said he could take Varric, Donnic, and Aveline back. But you’ll need to drive me, Isabela, and Fenris. I can give you my keys now, if you’d like.” Merrill tries to dig in her pockets with her free hand, sloshing soda all over herself.

            “Merrill, why don’t you—” I try to take the can from her, but she continues to wave it around.

            “Ah! Here they are!” Merrill pulls out her key chain, which has weird little runic symbols dangling off of it, and presses it into my hand. “Now. I’m going to go watch Carver and Varric. They’re having a very funny talk about women.”

            I watch Merrill toddle off, and Fenris mutters, “And I don’t think I’ll ever understand her.”

            “Sometimes she starts talking in Welsh when she’s really drunk. I’m pretty sure it’s her attempts to cast spells.” I start scrubbing the plates.

            “What company you keep,” Fenris shakes his head.

            “You’re right along there with us, Fenris,” I remind him.

            He looks surprised for a moment before he smiles softly. “I suppose I am.”

            Now it’s my mother’s turn to come into the kitchen—only a little tipsy—and she deposits a huge stack of serving dishes on the counter next to me before giving me a kiss on my head.

            Yeah, Thanksgiving with the Hawke family is a circus and an eating contest. But it’s also the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Fenris being adorable makes up for the slow update!   
> Thank you for reading, and the next chapter will be up faster than this one. ^^


	7. I Now Have a Cat Sweater

            Finals week ate a piece of my soul.

            It’s not even an overdramatic statement. I thought that maybe, since this was my senior year, finals wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass. And I was very, very wrong.

            So I’m perched on my desk chair in my tiny room in the apartment buying the newest DLC as my own form of therapy.

            Because my soul is now missing a ‘HIST 473’ sized chunk.

            My phone keeps buzzing, but I’m pointedly ignoring it. I have to type in my credit card information three times because I keep entering the numbers wrong or forgetting to put in the expiration date.

            I’m a mess. And not even a hot mess.

            Merrill sticks her head into my room and says, “Hawke, are you getting the group texts?”

            “Probably,” I grump, nestling further into my blanket and watching the download begin.

            She stares at me for a few moments. “Are you still upset about finals?”

            “My soul. It’s been destroyed.” I frown and proceed to head-desk, only to slam my forehead on the keyboard.

            “Oh dear,” Merrill shuffles into the room and pats my back, but it’s almost like she’s trying to burp a baby. “You know, if you need to piece your soul back together, I know a chant that might make you feel whole again.”

            I’m in the middle of a sniffle and I choke on a laugh. “Thanks, Merrill, but I’ll pass. I think I’ll just go make some tea.” I stand, still burrito-ed. “You want any?”

            “Yes, please!” Merrill and I go to the kitchen, and I see her texting away from the corner of my eye as I turn on the electric kettle. Our kitchen is just big enough for the oven and stovetop, sink, refrigerator, and about two feet of counter space. And only just.

            I hadn’t originally planned on moving in with Merrill—I met her through working at the Student Exchange Center my sophomore year when she did her exchange from Wales. When she decided to stay in Kirkwall, she rented this place on Alienage Lane. _Alienage Lane._ Merrill wasn’t exactly sure what to make of all the muggings. But she needed a roommate, and our little house in the Lowtown area was crowded enough with me, Bethany, Carver, Mom, and Uncle Gamlen.

            And Merrill and I get along alright.

            She scoops in her loose-leaf tea that she makes herself. I’m not entirely sure what’s in it, but it could be more strange plants she found in Tamlen’s back yard. I honestly don’t want to know.

            Either way, when I return to my room with my mug of normal, store-bought tea, I’m shaking my head.

            The download still isn’t complete, so I finally pick up my phone.

            _Oh my God._

            I have twenty unread messages, all from the group text. I have a feeling most are from Isabela.

            The first three are all from her.

 

            _heyyyyy bootyful ppl_

_do you know what time it is?_

_ugly sweater shopping time. so get off your butts and come with me_

It’s something Isabela and I started with Merrill. Except Merrill doesn’t think the sweaters are ugly and keeps commenting on how pretty everything is.

            Of course, Merrill answered:

 

            _Oh, I love ugly sweater shopping! ^.^ When are w going?_

_*we_

Sebastian:

 

            _Why are we shopping for ugly sweaters?_

Zevran:

           

            _Because we simply look ravishing wearing a sweater with pompoms, or one that depicts reindeer sex ;)_

I actually spit tea back into my mug. _Why do you say these things, Zev? Why?_ I’d been there last year when Zevran found that exact sweater. It was terrible.

            The next text is from Fenris:

 

            _Maybe I’m not meant for this type of shopping_

Poor Fenris. Of course, Isabela responded:

 

            _of course you are kitten. fenris gets off at six with me so we can go then_

_;) ;) ;) ;) gets off wih me…._

_what about the rest of you?_

I’m blushing for Fenris looking at the phone. Isabela can be so evil sometimes. I think she and Zev need to be separated. But… Fenris will be there! I swear I can _feel_ my face light up. _Get a grip. You want to stay in your room and play this DLC._ I glance at the download bar on the monitor longingly before continuing to read the group texts.

 

            Aveline:

 

            _You’re blowing up my phone, Isabela. I can’t go. Work dinner party. Please don’t buy raunchy sweaters. Particularly since what you wear every day is raunchy enough._

Isabela:

 

            _:(_

Varric:

 

            _Now that’s just cold, Aveline. I’ve got some business to take care of, but how about we go for drinks at the Hanged Man when you’re done?_

I feel like Varric has a ton of ‘business’ on the side. My mother once asked me what Varric did, and I could only summarize as ‘writer, bookstore manager, and… business guy?’

           

            Sebastian:

 

            _I’ll be there. Not for the reindeer sweaters, but for some Christmas shopping as well. Drinks sound great, Varric._

Merrill:

 

            _I’ll see if Hawke is free!_

Isabela:

 

            _im ninety percent sure shes playing dragon time or whatevr its called. just drag her off of it_

I glare at the phone screen, only to cringe as I read Merrill’s response:

 

            _I don’t know about Hawke. She says her soul has been destroyed._

Oh my God. This is why group texts are terrible. This is why Merrill should not be told anything. Isabela had immediately sent back:

 

            _what_

Fenris:

 

            _Hawke could you please clarify?_

I quickly start texting:

 

            _Finals. Finals destroyed my soul. It’s not actually that dramatic._

_And yes to ugly sweater shopping at six and drinks after._

_And Isabela, it’s not called dragon time. -.-_

I sigh, deciding that I probably need to put on real clothes if I want to go. After my Spanish final I’d pulled on ratty gray pajama pants and a sports bra. Not exactly decent for the public eye. Well, maybe more decent than reindeer sex sweaters.

            Merrill calls through the wall that separates our rooms that she’ll drive us to the mall, and I yell back a thank you as I pull on my only clean pair of jeans and throw on multiple layers for the Kirkwall cold.

            And then I try to tame my hair. It’s longer than I like it—brushing the tops of my shoulders. For a moment I think about actually doing something with it.

            _Why? It looks perfectly normal._

I blink at the mirror I have on the back of my door a few times, taking in my reflection. The only thing that’s ever been not perfectly normal and average about me is the little red scar across the bridge of my nose. As a kid, I hadn’t been exactly thrilled that my glasses were smashed into my face and scarred me permanently, but hey—I got a unique scar.

            Should I put on eyeliner? Mascara?

            Then I’ll be rubbing my eyes and smearing it through the night.

            I sigh and open my door, berating myself for the reason behind the make-up ponderings. _Get a grip, Marie. It doesn’t matter what Fenris thinks of you. And if he doesn’t like normal-looking Marie, then everyone can just move on with life. Without your heart beating like a twelve year old crushing on the baker’s son back in Ferelden._

So I pull on my puffy jacket that makes me look like a marshmallow, stick my feet into my broken-down boots, and Merrill and I head to the mall. Maybe part of me is actually _trying_ to deter Fenris from being interested in me. Not that he would be in the first place. And not that I’m hoping he is.

            I cringe to myself as Merrill blasts her warble-music and sings along. When we get to the shopping center, we make a break for it through the parking lot. The wind is freezing my face, and my cheeks might actually be stuck as we make it to the front of the tiny thrift store.

            The thawing begins as the bell over the door twinkles and I walk into _Wynne’s._ The elderly lady who runs the place has an eclectic taste of old books, weird wine bottle holders, and hideous Christmas sweaters. I personally think it’s the odd, stocky woman who’s stocking the store with the terrible sweaters. She seems to hate all of humanity for a reason that’s yet to be determined.

            Sebastian’s already in _Wynne’s_ with a serene expression, holding up a worn and yellowing book. He’s currently the only person in the shop other than the grumpy humanity-hating lady at the register. She glares at Merrill and I as we enter.

            “Oh, Sebastian! It’s so good to see you!” Merrill squeals from the store entrance, like it’s been years.

            We saw Sebastian a week ago.

            “Hello, Merrill.” Sebastian answers, patiently returning her enthusiastic hug.

            When Merrill disentangles herself, I join Sebastian looking through the books. “Who are you shopping for?”

            “Elthina,” he answers, though he’s currently holding a book titled _The Final Straw: Death Comes to Us All._

I stifle a laugh. “Um, yeah. Great book to give to the nice old lady at your church.”

            Sebastian looks at the book and slowly puts it back in the pile with pursed lips. “I think this may not be the best place to find gifts.”

            I pat his arm. “Isabela likes the store, Sebastian. That’s always a warning sign.”

            “I have _very_ good taste in stores, thank you,” Isabela waltzes into _Wynne’s_ with Fenris and Zevran, looking utterly toasty and warm despite her uncovered legs. She has a leather jacket on, but her mini-skirt leaves her perfectly shaped brown legs unprotected against the cold.

            Sebastian just sighs with a pained expression while Fenris raises his eyebrows as he observes the shop.

            “This isn’t quite what I expected,” he says, eyeing a knitted wine bottle holder.

            “Just you wait, sweet thing.” Isabela heads to the side of the little store and starts pawing through sweaters.

            “I’m overcome with anticipation,” Fenris deadpans.

            I waddle over to Fenris, still in my enormous jacket because the cold must’ve seeped into my bones. It’s not even melodramatic to say so. “Isabela always finds the best sweaters. And by best, I mean worst.”

            “Do you actually buy them?” Fenris asks with an air of suspicion.

            “Well… yes?” I laugh. “Do you expect any less of us?”

            Fenris smirks. “I suppose not.”

            “Found it!” Isabela’s voice makes Fenris and I look to where she’s triumphantly holding up a sweater in the back of the store. It’s vomit green, with a red Santa on the front, sticking his butt out provocatively. Across the top, it reads ‘Delivering the booty’ in all caps.

            Fenris closes his eyes and exhales slowly while I cover my face with my hands. “Isabela, no,” I groan.

            “Isabela, yes!” Zevran cheers.

            “Please tell me you aren’t actually considering buying that,” Sebastian sounds like he’s almost pleading.

            “Oh, I’m checking out right now.” Isabela grins as she goes to the cash register and the stone-faced woman glares at Isabela. “But we’re not leaving until Hawke and Merrill get theirs. Traditions!”

            I roll my eyes and start shuffling through the racks, Fenris watching me as I show him various articles of clothing that all look like they were knitted by a blind grandmother who secretly hated knitting. Hate knitting—yeah, that’s definitely what they look like they’re the product of.

            Fenris and I even come up with a scale on which to rate them, though it starts to make not much sense at all.

            “One naked Santa out of five,” I declare, Fenris snorting as I put the knitted jacket back on the rack. I select another one and hold it up for Fenris.

            “Hm,” his eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Two for sheer offensiveness, and a six for somehow choosing the worst yellow possible.”

            Zevran finds a sweater that’s simply knitted abs on a burnt orange sweater and buys it without hesitation.

            “Hawke, I think you’d like this one!” Merrill holds up a glorious sweater with cat faces covering the entire hot pink background. There’s also excessive amounts of glitter.

            I take it from her and grin. “I love it Merrill. It’s the most beautiful ugly sweater I’ve ever seen.”

            “It might make Fluffy jealous,” Merrill says seriously, selecting a sweater for herself that’s one of those Andy Warhol Marilyn Monroe prints made up entirely of sequins.

            Fenris eyes me with silent incredulousness as I pay. And fortunately, the thing is cheap. I’ll probably wear it around the apartment and on Christmas day. Bethany got a kick out of mine from last year, at least.

            “Does anyone want to look around more?” Isabela asks, looking pointedly at Fenris and Sebastian. “Ugly sweaters for you two?”

            “I think I’ll pass,” Fenris answers dryly, and Sebastian mutters his agreement, saying he’d find Christmas gifts elsewhere.

            “Drinks then!” Isabela beams.

            I get back into Merrill’s car after sprinting through the parking lot. The restaurant next door to Wynne’s is just popular enough that all the parking spaces close by were taken.

            “I just _love_ your sweater, Hawke. We should take pictures when we get back home! Ooh, maybe I should buy Carver and Bethany matching sweaters for Christmas!” Merrill croons as she continues to drive almost ten miles per hour under the speed limit.

            “Carver? In a sweater? Matching?” I raise my voice to be heard over the keening coming through the speakers.

            “You’re right. He’d probably like his own.” Merrill nods.

            I decide not to say anything else. Carver turns into a sweet, stammering idiot around Merrill anyway, so if _she_ gave him a sweater, he might actually wear it. Only once, and probably only if she asked him to put it on during gift-opening. But he would for her.

            We reach the Hanged Man after the others, and it’s warm enough inside that I actually pull off my marshmallow jacket.

            The fraying vinyl booth seats circle the round table that Varric always claims, and I end up on the very edge of the booth next to Fenris.

            He definitely does smell like coffee. And very, very faintly like hazelnut. I almost say out loud that he smells great, but fortunately he’s already talking to Varric about something.

            _Don’t get drunk, Marie. Otherwise you’ll say something very stupid._

            By the time that drinks come, I’m blabbering to Isabela about how it might be Bethany’s last Christmas with the family for a while.

            That was her big news, the morning she brought over chai and I made pancakes. She applied for a competitive sculpting program in Japan. And if she made it in, she would drop out of Kirkwall University without even finishing her freshman year and go. To Japan! Mom and I kept asking why she didn’t just find a program that’s, you know, on the same continent. But Bethany seemed determined, listing off all the wonderful things about the program.

            “I didn’t realize your sister wanted to go there,” Fenris says, his voice rumbling softly next to me.

            “It’s not Japan as much as it is the sculpting. There’s this really great opportunity to learn from some famous guy, and Bethany is dying to go.” I explain lamely, resting my chin on the top of my chipped mug. “She doesn’t even know Japanese! She bought these self-teaching books, but what if she goes over and something happens medically and she can’t explain what’s going on? Or what if—”

            “You’re worrying too much, Kitten.” Isabela says from across the table. “Beth’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

            “She’s my little sister!” I answer indignantly. “I’ve always looked out for her and now she’s… she might be going across the world.” I shake my head.

            Fenris leans forward a little bit, his arm brushing against mine and I get momentarily distracted thinking about how he doesn’t mind touch between the two of us now.

            “Hawke?” Fenris asks, and I realize he said something.

            “Sorry,” I blurt. “What was that?”

            Fenris raises an eyebrow. “If Bethany ever wants help learning Japanese, I’d be happy to practice with her.”

            I stare at him. “You know Japanese?”

            Fenris nods. “I didn’t learn in school—I just picked some up while I lived there. And honestly if she’s going to any large city she’ll be fine. Most people speak English in Tokyo. It’s just the smaller cities that will be harder to navigate.”

            “That’s…” I blink. “Wow. How long did you live there?”

            “Two years. I was in Tokyo for a few months before I found work in a smaller town in the north,” Fenris answers, suddenly very interested in the stem of his wine glass.   

            “Ooh, was it exciting?” Merrill chirps, her eyes shining at us. “Why did you go?”

            Everyone’s watching Fenris, and his shoulders hunch every so slightly. “I hadn’t planned to be there for long, so it was… unexpected. Very different.”

            “Broody, didn’t you mention you lived in Singapore, too?” Varric asks, thankfully giving Fenris an out.

            Fenris nods. “After I left Japan.”

            “You’ll have to tell me more about it some time,” Varric says smoothly. “I was thinking about making my next crime book take place somewhere new—I’m scoping out places, so to speak.”

            I let out a tiny sigh of relief at the change of subject, as Isabela asks Varric if she can be written into it.

            It’s really nice, sitting next to Fenris—he’s warm, and his voice is this strange combination of silk and gravel, and I’m starting to doze when I realize that it’s snowing.

            “Snow!” I gasp, suddenly very awake and pointing past the Hanged Man’s smudged windows to where I can see snow falling underneath the streetlamp.

            Merrill perks up as well, and I dig through my wallet and leave money on the table, pulling on my jacket as I hurry outside.

            The flakes are fat and slow to fall, and it’s beautiful.

            _The first snow of the winter._

I hear Isabela swearing loudly as everyone pours out on the sidewalk, and Merrill laughing.

            It’s sticking to the little patch of grass across the road, and I turn to see them all admiring the snow, Merrill sticking her tongue out.

            Fenris pulls on his beanie as he walks over to me, the cloudy winter light glinting off of his white hair before he covers it. “I’ve never seen anyone so excited to be out in the cold before.”

            “It doesn’t snow very much in Kirkwall. We get the cold, the wind, but not much precipitation. I mean, Ferelden got heaps of snow. Every winter it was snowman building and snowball fights. I guess I miss it. A lot.” I ramble, holding out my hand with already numb fingers to catch snowflakes.

            Fenris smiles before looking up. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

            I grin at him. “Maybe we’ll get enough to go sledding!”

            He chuckles softly. “I don’t think the weather forecast had predicted more than a few hours worth of snow.”

            “Oh well. I guess I’ll have to find something else to do with my break now that the semester is over,” I sigh, then think of the DLC waiting for me and decide I’ll be plenty busy.

            Fenris drops his eyes from the clouds above to me. “I… There’s an art show next Friday. It’s local artists and crafters setting up just for the night, and—would you like to go with me?”

            _What?_

My stomach does that obnoxious little flip but my face is already supplying a stupid grin for me. “I’d love to!”

            Fenris looks almost surprised as he says, “Then…”

            “It’s a date,” I say, before heat rushes to my face. I’d be thankful for the warmth against the frigid air, but _God help me, I actually just said that. What if it’s not? What if he was going to invite the others?_ “Or a thing! It sounds like a great thing! It’s always great to support local artists. Maybe I’ll even find something for Bethany’s gift—”

            “Hawke.” Fenris cuts me off, clearly amused by my awkwardness. “It’s a date. If you’d still like to go as such.” The amusement quickly morphs into his usual, slightly guarded expression.

            But my idiotic grin returns, and I now wonder if Carver around Merrill is like me around Fenris. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

            Fenris relaxes just as Merrill bounds up to us. “Hawke, you’re going to freeze like that!”

            Fenris gives Merrill this look before telling me, “We can work out the details later.”

            I nod my head vigorously as Merrill links arms with me and starts toward her car.

            “Goodnight, Fenris!” I call, a particularly large snowflake landing on my nose. It’s been a really, really great night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long.  
> I'm sorry if this dragged, but thank you so much for reading!


	8. First Date? More Like Disaster Date.

            “Hi, Kitten.”

            “Isabela…”

            “What’s up? Oh, wait. Let me guess. You’re nervous about your date with Fenris.”

            “No.” I sigh when there’s only silence on Isabela’s end of the call. “Yes. Maybe a little bit.”

            I’m sitting beside the front door to the apartment with one boot on, having a minor freak out. And by minor, I mean I’ve considered texting Fenris with various excuses telling him I can’t go. I hug my knees with my free hand, with the other clasping my phone with a death grip. Excitement had turned to worry over the past week, and has now manifested into full-blown anxiety.

            “Why? What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll awkwardly ramble at him and he’ll stare at you with a concerned expression? You’ve already done that before, Hawke.”

            My heart is thundering in my chest as I mutter, “That’s not the worst that could happen.”

            Isabela is quiet again for a moment. “This is about Anders, isn’t it?”

            “No.” I reply automatically, then groan into the phone. “I just… I _swore_ after Anders that I would look out for myself more often. I mean, even before Anders there was that string of dates freshman year that I think I told you about when I got drunk last year, with that blind date guy who got all grope-y and I just froze up, and the guy who wouldn’t leave me alone and told me I was a bitch when I didn’t drop everything to see him, and then—”

            “Hawke.” Isabela’s calm voice cuts through my hysterical rant. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. As much as I pushed you to Fenris, you absolutely _do not_ have to do _anything_ you don’t want with him if you aren’t ready.”

            I bury my face between my knees. “I just… I want to go out. I was really looking forward to it. But all I can think of are the things that went wrong with all the guys previously.”

            “Maybe you should switch to us girls, then.”

            “Isabela!” I squawk, startled out of my angsting. “I’m having a serious panic attack here, okay?” But it works, and I laugh a little bit.

            “Right, serious talk.” Isabela _hms_. “I’m no good at serious talk. Tell me something—do you think Fenris will be anything like the blind date bastard? Like the obsessive caller? Like Anders?”

            I bite my lip. Fenris has never made me feel unsafe. _I’m_ the one who’s careful not to touch him. And… I really like his laugh. And his rare smiles. The nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach isn’t about him. “No. I… I really like him, Isabela. And I think that’s what’s freaking me out, too.”

            “Ah, feelings. Complicated little shits, aren’t they?” Isabela says patiently. “So you’ve got yourself all riled up because you have feelings for him.”

            I nod to myself. “I wasn’t expecting it. It’s just— there are so many ways this can go wrong, and I don’t want to get hurt again.”

            “You’ll never know if it will go wrong or right unless you try it out. But if Fenris does anything even remotely like the pathetic assholes you dated before, I’ll make it my personal mission to find him, pluck his eyes out, and feed them to Fluffy. Or maybe I’ll put them on a necklace. They’re so pretty.”

            “Isabela!”

            “What?”

            I laugh again, my heart finally slowing in my chest. “You’re the best, you know that?”

            “Oh, I know.” She answers in a sultry voice. “I’ve been told I’m the best at _lots_ of things.”

            “Okay, I don’t need any more information following that line of thought. Thanks, Bela.”

            “Call me after the date with all the details. I love Merrill, but she’s about as good at girl talk as a squirrel on acid.”

            I snort at the image. “I’ll talk to you later.”

            “Bye, Kitten.”

            I end the call, take a deep breath, and pull on my other boot.

            _It’s just a date. It’s just a date. It’s just that you’ve had a few terrible dates before. Several. Shit. Don’t think about it now, Marie!_

I stand, pull on my long black coat, fasten the belt, and leave for the bus stop. It’s only four o’clock, but the sky is the typical Kirkwall gray.

            As I wait in the cold, I actually start to relax. Fenris is absolutely _nothing_ like Anders. Or Gascard. Or Wilmod. God, Wilmod acted like he was possessed.

            And I really _do_ like Fenris.

            _Don’t admit it! You’re just going to get nervous again._

On the bus, I put my head against the window, my breath fogging the glass.

            Fenris’s voice is my favorite. And the way his white tattoos stand out against his brown skin, and the way his hair falls into those beautiful eyes.

            I’ve got it bad.

            My phone buzzes and I check with cold fingers, unlocking my home screen. It’s a text from Merrill, who was out working when I left:

 

            _Good luck, Hawke!! ^.^ I can’t wait to here all about it!_

_*hear_

            Shaking my head at Merrill, the bus screeches to a stop. With my face still smashed against the window, I can see Fenris with his hands in his pockets, black beanie covering his hair, looking straight at me with an amused expression.

            He lifts a hand in a tiny wave.

            I immediately sit up and wave back, only it’s more of manic wrist flopping as I make sure I have my purse before I fly down the aisle, nearly trip on the steps, and bumble over to Fenris.

            “Hawke.”

            _Oh my God._

Just the way he says my name is enough to make my heart speed up—and in a good way this time. Why was I worried again?

            “Hey!” I’m nearly shouting with my level of enthusiasm.

            I think I must be out of practice with the whole ‘date’ thing.

            But Fenris’s lips quirk up. “Are you going to be cold?”

            For vanity’s sake, I’d swapped my marshmallow jacket for a trendier coat, but it wasn’t entirely impractical. “Ferelden blood, Fenris. It would take a blizzard to make me admit that I’m cold.”

            “Admit?” Fenris looks at me questioningly.

            “I can’t exactly be defeated by Kirkwall weather,” I say seriously. A cool breeze picks up the litter around our feet at the bus stop. “The wind, though… that’s another story.”

            “Let’s get to the warehouse, then.” Fenris answers. “It’s just up the street.”

            The art show and craft fair is in the Gallows—the part of town that even Merrill can’t say is charming. It’s incredibly old, but also known for being a little seedy. Not in the same way the area around Alienage Lane is. It just _feels_ creepy.

            “How did you hear about this?” I ask, falling in step beside Fenris.

            “Velanna, actually. She and Leliana were talking about it in _Cousland’s_ a couple weeks back.”

            “Leliana?” Why does that name sound familiar?

            Fenris nods. “She plays sometimes at _Cousland’s_.”

            “Oh! The red-head. Oh.” I blink. She was the artist Isabela had a summer fling with. The one Isabela told Merrill _all_ about one night.

            “Velanna’s going to be selling her carvings,” Fenris continues, fortunately unaware of all the details I’m recalling. “But there’s also a portion of the warehouse set up as a gallery.”

            “Isabela doesn’t having anything snuck in, does she?”

            “Not that I’m aware of. However, I’m sure we’ll know right away if a piece belongs to her.”

            “She does have a very distinctive style, doesn’t she?” I grin.

            Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Yes. _Distinctive._ ”

            I snort loudly. Fenris’s shoulders seem to roll back a little bit, and I didn’t even realize until that moment that he’d been tense.

            “Let’s go scope them out—ooh, we can also play ‘guess the amount of zeros’. That one’s always fun.” I say.

            Fenris chuckles. “I thought you wanted to find a birthday gift for your sister.”

            “That too.”

            The warehouse is unassuming from the outside. A little run-down, peeling white paint, and massive in size. The inside, however, is filled with people and just noisy enough where Fenris and I have to stand close together to be heard.

            The art show is in the back corner of the warehouse, which means Fenris and I have to get through the vendors first. But we end up ambling and looking instead.

           I spot a beautiful watercolor that's very Bethany, and fork over more cash than I’d like to part with. Then again, I always blow most of my money on gifts—and then Fenris and I make are way toward the art show. I keep the painting wrapped up neatly in its protective tubing the woman gave me.

            There are at least less people in this corner, and Fenris and I linger in front of each painting. Fenris just looks at each one with similar detached interest while I find myself smiling at some without thinking, and shaking my head at others.

            “None impressed you so far?” I ask, after we discover a piece (a solid yellow six-inch square) is five hundred dollars.

            “Perhaps not.” Fenris answers thoughtfully, frowning to himself.

            I try not to laugh at his serious expression, like he’s trying really hard to remember a decently good piece. “What did you like to paint?”

            His frown deepens for a moment. “I… do not remember.”

            “Because of your head injury?” I blurt before wincing.

            But Fenris doesn’t seem bothered by it. He just turns his amazingly green eyes on me. “Yes. I told you that I was commissioned. I suppose after that, all the work I was ordered to do was not really my own.”

            “So you didn’t like what you were being commissioned to do?”

            Fenris’s eyes flash for a moment. “No,” he answers angrily, his voice tight. “I did not.”

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You never have to answer if you don’t want to. Really. I won’t mind.” I babble, wishing I could have the magical power of digging holes through the Earth. What’s on the other side of the world from Kirkwall?

            “It’s fine, Hawke.” His sudden quiet words startle me as he seems to deflate. “I’ve just never been asked those questions before. The answers can be… difficult.”

            I stare at him, still wanting to dig myself a hole—the metaphorical one has already been dug. “Do you want me to awkwardly change the subject and talk about my dog again?”

            Fenris chuckles softly, though his eyes are still hard. “You don’t need to. But… thank you. For asking. I don’t know what I liked to paint, but I think if I ever started again, I’d want to do landscapes.”

            “Oceans? Forests? Kirkwall dump sites?” I let out a breath, easing back into just _being_ with Fenris. It’s actually simple to do, when I’m not prodding into obviously sensitive topics.

            “Kirkwall dump, definitely,” Fenris answers without hesitation.

            “Oh, I’d buy that for five hundred dollars.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind.” Fenris smirks at me.

            We reach the end of the art show corner and are back into the vendor section. Fenris says something about seeing something he wants to buy, and I tell him I’m going to look around here. This area is still crowded, but fortunately not as crazy as the section of the warehouse by the front entrance.

            I’m inspecting a pretty stained-glass ornament when the guy at the table next to me snarls, “What do you mean ‘no’?”

            The vendor standing across from the angry man is a small woman, made even smaller by the way she’s shrinking back. “I’m s-sorry, Sir. But I can’t give you a two for one deal.”

            The man has a beer can in his hand, and takes a swig before tossing it behind him. “Why not? I’ll throw in something to sweeten the deal, sweetheart. How about a kiss?”

            The vendor visibly swallows, and I can see she’s shaking. She can’t be much older than me either. “A-all prices are as listed. No exceptions.” She seems so sweet, and even though she looks absolutely nothing like my sister, her voice reminds me of Bethany. My hands ball into fists.

            The drunk leers forward. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

            “Excuse me,” I say without thinking, stepping in front of her table.

            _What the hell am I doing?_

“How much are these?” I point at whatever she’s selling—vases. My thoughts are completely occupied by an angry, protective buzz. And I really have no idea what I’m doing.

            I blame it entirely on big-sister instincts.

            “Thirty dollars, Ma’am,” the woman answers, eyes darting to the drunken man next to me.

            “Hey. I was talking to her,” the drunk elbows me in the side.

            “Harassing.”

            “What?”

            I grit my teeth together as I round on him. “Harassing her. I’m actually interested in buying her stuff—vases.” It doesn’t help that I’m almost a head shorter than him.

            “You little whore,” the drunk hisses at me.

            “Please, we can—we can work something out,” the vendor pleads.

            “Shut up!” The drunk spits back at her. “You need to watch that stupid mouth of yours.”

            I bristle, snapping, “Walk away from her right now, or I’ll call the police.”

            The man slowly turns his body to face me. “So you’re a little rat, are you? You know what happens to rats?” He grabs the collar of my coat and punches me _hard_.

            There’s a copper tang in my mouth as my chin aches. I inhale sharply as I look back at the drunk before me.

            My mind goes completely blank as I freeze, staring into bloodshot eyes and overwhelmed by the smell of alcohol.

            _Been here before. Been here before. Knuckles hit. Then into a wall._

            The drunk draws a fist back again and I flinch, only to hear, “Let. Her. Go.”

            Fenris.

            I open my eyes to see the owner of the gravelly voice holding the drunk’s arm back, Fenris’s face the angriest I’ve ever seen.

            “And who the hell are you?” The drunk sneers.

            “Someone who will break your arm if you don’t unhand her now.” Fenris growls in response.

            The hand on my collar drops, and I gasp, unaware that I’d held my breath.

            Before I can get even think of something to say, the drunk grabs a vase and slams it over Fenris’s head.

            Glass shatters, and I’m shouting, “Fenris!”

            He drops to his knees just as the drunk picks up another vase, only this time I’m not rooted to the spot. I kick the back of the drunk's leg, and he grunts in surprise.

            When he wobbles to face me, I knee him where it hurts.  _Oh, **now** it's easy to do._

            “Oh my God, oh my God,” the vendor is saying as the drunk goes down, hands clutching his crotch.

            “Fenris, are you alright?” I step around where the drunk is now lying in a heap. “You’re bleeding!”

            _Shit. Shit. Shit._

There’s a trickle of red running down his forehead, and his eyes are unfocused. “I’m fine,” he answers thickly.

            “No you’re not! You’re going to need stitches. What if you have a concussion?” My hands flutter uselessly around me until Fenris gets to his feet unsteadily.

            “Ella, call the police.” Someone says from behind us.

            I look over my shoulder as Fenris ducks his head, though I can still see him wincing in pain.

            It’s the red-head, Leliana. “Hawke, yes? I believe Fenris needs medical attention. I have a car parked in the back. I can drive you to an urgent care.”

            “I’m fine,” Fenris repeats.

            Leliana sighs calmly. “You have blood on your face, Fenris. I hardly believe that qualifies as healthy.”

            Fenris raises his head to glare at Leliana. “Not a hospital.”

            “Just a clinic,” Leliana agrees. “Let’s go.” She takes the lead, and I realize that all the vendors and shoppers in the area have stopped to stare, and the drunk is still on the ground.

            We head toward a back exit, going back through the art show where the people who _do_ notice gawk.

            “I’m so sorry, Fenris,” I say as we finally make it out into the parking lot. “I didn’t realize that was going to happen. Well, that’s obvious. I didn’t think it through. That’s obvious, too. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, and I—”

            “Hawke. This is not your fault.” Fenris answers firmly. He has blood now on his neck, all the way to his dark jacket.

            “Sorry,” I whisper.

            Leliana unlocks her car—a little blue one that I think would impress Isabela—and I help Fenris into the back seat. Leliana gets a towel out of the trunk and hands it to me. “Keep it on the wound. Head injuries bleed a lot,” she tells me.

            So I climb into the back seat as well, and lean forward to hold the towel against Fenris’s head. He winces at it, but doesn’t say anything as I keep it there.

            Leliana drives too fast, but she’s much safer than Isabela. And I have time while we’re on our way to urgent care to panic.

            “Fenris? Are you… feeling dizzy?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone level.

            “I’m fine, Hawke. Really.” His voice sounds more raw than usual, and I opt to worry silently the rest of the way.

            When we get to the urgent care, Leliana stops right outside the sliding glass front doors. “Do you need my help?” She asks, looking back at us as I open the car door.

            “No,” Fenris answers immediately.

            “I think we’ll be fine. Thank you, Leliana. So much.” I seriously owe her a thousand thank-you cards and chocolate.

            “Good. I’m going back to take care of the police officers. That man needs to be locked up.” Leliana’s face turns dark as I climb out of the car, now holding a towel covered in blood.

            Fenris walks shakily around the car, and I resist wrapping an arm around his waist to help him. Something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate it.

            We reach the front desk and I babble incoherently before Fenris grumbles out his information, all while bleeding from a gash on his forehead.

            Without thinking, I go back with him into one of the examination rooms. He doesn’t sit in the patient’s chair, instead opting for one of the two blue chairs against the wall.

            “Fenris. I’m so—”

            “Please do not apologize again.” Fenris mutters hoarsely. His skin looks clammy and has taken on a sickly sheen.

            “Oh. Okay. Sorry.” I bite my lip, the word slipping out accidentally as I plop down next to him, pressing the towel as gently as I can to the cut.

            Fenris sighs, and lifts a hand to mine, where I’m holding the towel. He lets our hands fall together, and neither of us let go. The bloody towel falls into his lap, but he doesn’t seem to care.

            So we sit in silence for a a minute, holding hands.

            “I know you don't want to hear it, but I… I really am sorry you got hurt. If I hadn’t frozen up, it would’ve been fine.” I say. His fingers are calloused as they intertwine with mine.

            “You don’t _need_ to apologize. I saw what happened as I made my way over. You did the right thing, stepping in. And as far as getting hurt—this is far from the worst injury I’ve received.” He offers a half-smile.

            I purse my lips together, trying not to get either nauseous as the sight of blood caked on Fenris’s face or cry at it all. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt at all.”

            “Neither do I. It was my choice to step in, as well.” Fenris says. He raises his other hand to my face, ghosting over my lips and I suck in a sharp breath when he touches the spot where I’d been hit.

            _Oh. Forgot about that._

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured tonight going.” I admit, still holding his hand—gently enough where he could pull back if he wanted.

            “No?”

            “What, does your dream first date end with you needing stitches?”

            Fenris snorts. “Not precisely. Things are never dull with you around, Hawke.”

            I cringe apologetically. “I’m—”

            “I’m not.” Fenris gently squeezes my hand. “There’s no one I would rather be at an urgent care with on a Friday night.”

            It takes me a moment to process, and I find myself smiling enough that my lip hurts. “Thanks, Fenris. And thank you for earlier, too. For stepping in and keeping that guy from hitting me again.”

            _He did do that. He didn’t stand back and watch._

The smile turns into a grin as I suddenly _know_ that all my worrying was incredibly stupid. “Are you up for a second date with me?”

            “I would like that.” Fenris answers, the corners of his mouth curving up as well.

            The door opens, revealing a doctor with gray hair and smelling of anti-septic. “Leto?”

            “Yes.”

            I was about to say the opposite, but Fenris moves to the examination chair. I suppose there _are_ plenty of questions that have difficult answers.

            But at the moment, I really don’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! This chapter was much longer than I intended (again). 
> 
> Hawke has very sucky past experiences with relationships (and dates in general), and I was a little worried that the rating would need to go up or warnings should be posted on chapters. Let me know if either of these should be happening! I want to make sure everyone is comfortable knowing what they're reading. 
> 
> Also, hand-holding. One small step for most, one giant leap for Hawke. ;)


	9. We Don't Need Mistletoe, Isabela

            Wearing my ugly cat sweater and wedged between Carver and Bethany, Christmas is pretty good.

            Christmas morning with the Hawke family is always a lazy kind of thing, so getting dressed to go over to Varric’s apartment tonight was the most energy I’ve spent today. And of course, I already knew I’d be choosing my cat sweater. It’s growing on me. The glitter could actually be considered tasteful by some standards.

            Mom is across the room speaking with Sebastian, delicately sipping wine, but she glances at us and I smile back.

            Carver, of course, is scanning sports news on his phone since Merrill hasn’t shown up to Varric’s apartment yet. I’m sure once she gets in the door, Carver will suddenly be all awkward blushes and cute as a puppy.

            Ha.

            I take it back, I’m not sure Carver is ever cute.

            Fenris is with Varric, discussing something that’s causing Fenris’s dark eyebrows to pull together.

            Isabela is harassing Aveline and Donnic, and it’s funny _not_ being the butt of her jokes. I still haven’t forgiven her for the muffin incident.

            “Hey, Sis?” Bethany puts her head on my shoulder.

            “Mm?”

            “If I get accepted into that program, I’ll really miss you.”

            I immediately unpin the arm that Carver was crushing and throw it around Bethany. “ _When_ you get accepted into that program, I’ll be saving up to fly over there for next Christmas.”

            She laughs at that. “I guess that means I’ll have Mom along, too. Carver, are you going to stay here alone?”

            Carver grunts.

            I elbow him in the ribs.

            “Ouch! What was that for?” Carver demands, glaring at me through narrowed eyes.          

            “You’re impossible, you dolt.” I roll my eyes. “I love you, though. Now let me up so I can go get a margarita.”

            Carver sullenly shifts so I can clamber off of the couch, and Bethany calls, “Get me one, too!”

            “You’re underage,” I throw over my shoulder.

            “Spoilsport.” Bethany answers as I head into Varric’s kitchen.

            I snort, grabbing glass and filling it with the margarita mix Isabela made. Through the archway into the living room as Varric claps Fenris on the shoulder, their conversation seemingly at an end.

            Fenris sees me and one side of his mouth pulls up.

            _He’s so freaking adorable and so incredibly hot. How is one person both at the same time? How is that even possible?_

I think I’m actually jealous.

I beam at him in response, and he makes his way to the kitchen, joining me as we lean against the island countertops. Our second date is still yet to be determined, and we’ve only seen each other at _Cousland’s_ since. But my face heats up just from him walking over with those long, lanky legs.

            _Oh my God. I’m still being creepy, aren’t I?_

            “Having fun?” I ask as Fenris pours wine into his glass, determined not to keep ogling.

            Fenris nods. “I am.”

            I take a sip of margarita and splutter as my throat burns. “GOD, this is strong. I think Isabela forgot to put in the lime juice. And the sweetener. And everything but the alcohol.”

            Fenris chuckles. “You’re not known for your love of strong drinks, Hawke. I’m sure it’s fine.”

            “Oh, patronize me if you think that,” I say dramatically, holding the glass out for him. “Try it for yourself and try to tell me that’s not just straight up tequila.”

            Fenris sets down his wine to take the glass from me, our fingers brushing. He cocks an eyebrow as he takes a sip, blinking at the taste.

            When he passes the margarita—tequila—back to me, he says, “I think there was a taste of lime somewhere in there.”

            “Bethany’s definitely not getting any of this.” I mutter, shaking my head. “She’d probably keel over from the shock.”

            “Er, Hawke. She’s already had some.” Fenris scratches the back of his head.

            “What?”

            “When she was back here with Isabela. She seems fine now.”

            I groan. “Isabela’s going to have the worst influence on both of the Hawke sisters. Next thing I know, Bethany’s going to be dancing shirtless to Beyonce while doing rum shots the night before finals.”

            “You speak from experience?”

            My face flushes. “Um. No?” I bury my face in my hands. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

            Fenris laughs, deep and silk on gravel. “If you were with Isabela, I’m hardly surprised.”

            “I’ll blame it entirely on her, then. It was purely Isabela’s influence, Fenris. I take my studies far too seriously to ever take a Spanish final while hung over.” I cringe, raising my head slowly.

            He just laughs again. “Of course, all Isabela.”

            “I keep hearing my name being mentioned in there!” Isabela calls from the living room.

            “You made the margaritas too strong!” I shout back, glaring through the archway at Varric’s television since no one else is in my line of vision.

            “Drink it up, sweet thing. There’s some mistletoe in the hall!”

            If my face wasn’t red before, it definitely is now.

            “All the better for you to drag in some drunk from the street,” Fenris retorts.

            “I’m hurt!” Isabela’s voice definitely doesn’t seem hurt. “It would have to be an attractive drunk.”

            Fenris shakes his head and looks back at me, though his cheeks seem to have more color in them as well.

            “Speaking of drunks off the street, how’s your head doing? Your hair always hangs in your eyes, I can’t even see your stitches. Not that I mind—long hair looks good on you.” God, I’m doing the awkward complimenting again. Why is awkward so effortless for me?

            “They’re healing fine,” Fenris answers, even sweeping his hair back with his hand so I can see.

            I peer at the stitches, also noting that he has little white tattoos on his forehead as well. “Good. I still feel like—”

            “Hawke. It wasn’t your fault,” Fenris says it so firmly; it almost sounds like a growl.

            I grimace at him. “But I—”

            “Hawke.” It really is a growl this time, and my heart pathetically stutters in my chest.

            I grab the margarita and gulp at it, only to start coughing at the burn.

            “Sounds like my big sister can’t handle her alcohol,” Bethany jokes as she saunters into the kitchen.

            Fixing her with a glare, I rasp, “Oh, fine. Let’s have Bethy join in on the ‘Let’s patronize Marie’ night.”

            Bethany giggles as she steals my glass a way and takes a sip.

            “Hey!”

            “What?” Bethany asks innocently. “We’re going on a walk to see the lights, Sis. Want to come along?”

            “Of course I do,” I answer, prying the drink away from her before she can have any more. “Fenris, do you want to go?”

            Fenris watches us with amusement, but nods.

            I leave the rest of the margarita on the island countertop and head out into the living room to pull on my puffy jacket and put on gloves—a Christmas gift from Mom.

            Merrill must’ve arrived while I was in the kitchen, and is talking at Carver while he stares at her with moony eyes. It’s nauseating in a sweet way. And also a little sad, considering Tamlen and Merrill are pretty much a couple.

            In the end, after some bickering and extra-jacket nabbing, we all go. Aveline barks at us to make sure we stay in pairs at least, since we’re in a dangerous area of town.

            We all walk together at first, and I fall in step with Aveline and Donnic. Most of the houses are modestly decorated, but it’s beautiful in the dark regardless.

            “Good Christmas, Hawke?” Aveline asks.

            “Good Christmas.” I reply, my fingers already numb despite the gloves I pulled on. “What about you two?”

            “It’s been great,” Donnic’s so sincere as he answers, but he looks at Aveline with a soft expression and I realize it’s their first Christmas as a married couple.

            “It really has,” Aveline smiles.

            I grin at them. “I’m glad. And I’m also glad that you two weren’t stuck on duty tonight.”

            “So am I. Though Donnic and I are planning to bring in some hot chocolate to the station after this.”

            “And cookies,” Donnic reminds Aveline.

            We pass a house that’s completely decked out with animatronic reindeer and candy canes towering over their sidewalk.

            Aveline gripes, “I’m not taking those pathetically burnt cookies to the station, Donnic.”

            “I already bought some when I went to grab the wine,” Donnic says evenly, not seeming perturbed by Aveline’s tone.

            _He’s a keeper._ “Did you try baking today, Aveline?” I ask with a laugh. “I thought after our first Thanksgiving in Kirkwall, you decided it wasn’t for you.”

            “Yes, and I should’ve remembered that,” Aveline responds dryly.

            “It’s the thought that counts,” I assure her.

            “I’ll tell you that next time I bring charred gingersnaps to your house,” Aveline huffs.

            I laugh, only to have Isabela plow between us and grab my arm, pulling me back a few steps as Aveline and Donnic continue. “Kitten, why are you not with the delicious broody man behind us?”

            “He’s talking with Sebastian?” The answer seems obvious.

            Isabela sighs impatiently. “Go. Go walk with him.” She practically pushes me back, and I trip over an uneven part of the sidewalk (or my own feet, I honestly don’t know).

            With a final glare at Isabela, I hang back until Sebastian and Fenris join me. We’re at the very rear of the group now, and as soon as I start walking beside them, Sebastian smoothly says, “I’ve been wanting to catch a moment with Bethany all night to ask her about that program in Japan. Is she further ahead, Hawke?”

            “Yeah. Just past Merrill and Carver,” I tell him, eyes already narrowing.

            Sebastian just thanks me serenely before moving ahead of us.

            _Damn it, Isabela. They’re all in on it, aren’t they?_

Not that I mind being with Fenris. Not at all. But I’d like to do it on my own time, thank you very much.

            “Walking around to see the Christmas lights is kind of a Hawke tradition.” I tell Fenris. “My Dad took us when we were kids. It was the only part of the day where we actually left the house. Half the time we were still in our pajamas. One year, Carver actually wore _matching_ pajama pants outside the house with Bethany and me. My mom took pictures and Carver still swears he’ll burn them if he ever sees them.” I realize I’m rambling and glance apologetically at Fenris.

            His white hair looks silver tonight, with the moon shining down on us. And his face is completely relaxed. It would be perfect if it weren’t so frigidly cold. I try not to shiver too obviously.

            “Do you have anything you usually do for Christmas?” I ask, hoping to stop the babbling.

            Fenris frowns a little bit as he looks at me. “I don’t know. I’ve been alone for the last few years for the holiday.”

            “You were—what, in France, then Japan, then Singapore?” I try to remember the places Fenris has mentioned he’s lived. He said once that he spent a few months in Germany, too. “Did you never find somewhere you wanted to stay?”

            Fenris hesitates as we stop in front of a tiny house with icicle lights and falling snow projected onto their garage door. “I was running. I couldn’t afford to stay in one place for long.”

            “Running?” I repeat the word with confusion.

            His expression hardens. “Yes.”

            “Oh. Do you… can you tell me what you were running from?” I ask slowly. “That’s a question with a difficult answer, isn’t it?”

            Fenris puts his hands into the pockets of his coat. “It is.” He looks at his shoes before continuing, “The man who commissioned me to work for him—I had to leave London because of him. To get away from him. It was—it still is—complicated. But I had nowhere to go once I left.”

            I bit my lower lip, resisting the urge to reach out to Fenris. I doubt he would appreciate it. Whoever the commissioner is, he’s obviously someone Fenris hates talking about. Instead, I opt to ask, “Is your family still in Britain?”

            Fenris seems surprised by the question, his eyes widening slightly. “I… don’t know. My sister is the only family I have, but I don’t know where she is. I was told that as a child, I moved around in foster homes. I have little memory from that time.”

            And now I know the reason Fenris never talks about his family.

            “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. That he had to run. That he doesn’t know his family. That I brought it up.

            Fenris’s face turns impassive as he answers stiffly, “I’m not made of glass, Hawke.”

            I wrinkle my nose, poking his arm against his automatic porcupine response. I’ve seen it before with Merrill and Aveline. He _hates_ being treated with pity. “No, you’re made of squishy person parts,” I inform him. “And some muscle.” I add, realizing his bicep is incredibly nice and toned even through the layers of his shirt and coat.

            Fenris rolls his eyes right before a particularly violent shiver runs through me. “I thought your Ferelden blood kept you warm,” he teases in a low voice, obviously happy with the change of subject.

            “I’m not cold,” I argue, though I have to make an effort not to let my teeth clatter together as I speak.

            He’s wearing that half smile again as he unwinds a knitted black scarf from around his neck. “You’re not a convincing liar.”

            “I’m not lying!” I tell him indignantly as he starts wrapping the scarf loosely around me. “And now you’re going to freeze.”

            “ _I’m_ not cold,” he answers almost smugly as I shiver again.

            “Rub it in, why don’t you.” I grumble, but the scarf is still warm from his skin and smells like coffee.

            Fenris finishes adjusting it and lets his hands fall, though he stays close.

            He smiles, and I tentatively reach out to wrap my arms around him. If he tenses, then I can—

            But then he gently pulls me closer to him, his arms encircling me as I rest my forehead on his shoulder and grin into his coat.

            I raise my chin to look up at him, savoring the heat radiating from his body and the way the Christmas lights reflect in his eyes, glinting green. “Will you go with me to the New Years party at _Cousland’s_?”

            “It’s a date,” Fenris answers with a smirk.

            My eyes narrow. “Are you making fun of me again?”

            He laughs, his chest rumbling with the sound, and leans down to kiss me.

            My eyes widen before they fall closed, his lips warmer than mine, sweet and undemanding.

            _Perfect._

It’s simple—his lips slanting over mine as he draws back slightly, only to press another kiss to my mouth.

            When he pulls away, his face has a lazy kind of happy written on it. “Merry Christmas, Hawke.”

            “Merry Christmas, Fenris.” I lean up to place another chaste kiss against his lips before I slip a gloved hand into his, completely unable to contain the ridiculous grin spreading across my face. “I’m glad you’re here in Kirkwall this year.”

            “As am I.” Fenris answers quietly, his hand tightening a little around mine.

            “A-ha!” I ruin the moment by shouting. “Kirkwall’s grown on you, hasn’t it? Like a sneeze?”

            Fenris gives me one of those _looks_. “I’m not sure that’s how I would describe it.”

            “But it snuck up on you. You weren’t expecting it. Like a sneeze.”

            Fenris snorts. “Sure, Hawke. Like a sneeze.”

            I fail miserably at glaring, laughing again instead. “Come on. Let’s go catch up with Aveline before she decides we’ve been kidnapped.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that kiss wasn't supposed to happen in this chapter. But as I was writing, Fenris made it very obvious that he wanted to kiss Hawke. I hope it felt just as natural reading it!


	10. Let's Just Not Count This as Date #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has mentions of interpersonal violence and abusive relationships. There's nothing graphic, only discussion. If you feel uncomfortable reading it, please feel free to skip this chapter and message me for a summary!

            Isabela loaned me her dress that she claimed would be _perfect_ for the New Years party at _Cousland’s_.

            It’s bright red, extremely form fitting, and so short I had to wear leggings. She tried to convince me to wear heels, but there is nothing in the world that would make me torture my feet for hours on end just so my legs can look longer or curvier.

            Well, maybe for a thousand dollars. Or a hundred.

            I’m the epitome of a broke college student.

            But as Merrill, Isabela, and I step through the doors into _Cousland’s_ , I need a few extra inches to just see over the heads of the masses.

            Music is playing in the background—pulsing and loud, and I have to shout to Merrill that we should look for the others.

            We start making our way through the sea of people that are somehow all crammed into the little café and bookstore. Glittery streamers hang from the ceiling, and the lighting is more dim than usual.

            “Marie, _bella!_ ”

            There’s a light hand on my arm that turns me around—Zevran’s grinning face appearing.

            “Zev!” I raise my voice to be heard over the music. I’ve already lost Merrill somewhere in the crowd.

            “You look absolute stunning, my friend.” Zevran’s eyes sweep over me and I tug at the edges of the short leather jacket I’m wearing over the sleeveless dress.

            “It’s Isabela’s,” I say, and Zevran laughs.

            “Why am I not surprised? You should wear her clothes more often.” Zevran winks at me. “Or, better yet, I can take you shopping and we can find things other than those massive sweaters you’re so fond of.”

            “They’re comfortable,” I grump, but Zevran just reaches forward to take my hand.

            “I’m sure they are. But this—” He somehow manages to spin me around. “I very much approve of this.”

            “Good to know,” I answer, face burning.

            Zevran chuckles as he kisses my knuckles and lets go of my hand. “Go on, my dear Hawke. There’s a certain white-haired man who will find that blush just as endearing as I do.”

            I grimace at Zevran for a moment before adjusting the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “Have you seen Fenris tonight?”

            Zevran points further in the direction of the bookstore. “He was with Sebastian when I saw him last. Oh—and before you go—I understand congratulations are in order.”

            “Congratulations for what?”

            He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “For making progress. You see, it starts with tender kisses, then the passion builds until you both are thrown into fits of wanton lust and pounce for a night of heated, sweaty—”

            “Zev!”

            Zevran winks again. “Shoo, now. Continue to make progress.”

            “You’re terrible,” I mutter, pressing the backs of my cold hands to my cheeks as I continue squeezing my way between groups of people.

            I finally see a flash of white hair, and find Fenris smirking at something Sebastian said. They’re in a less crowded area, at the edge of the bookstore. Sebastian’s holding a little plastic plate of cookies.

            When Fenris turns his head and he sees me, the smirk widens into a smile. “Hawke.”

            “Hey! Ooh, little gingersnaps.” I eye Sebastian’s plate as I come to stand next to them, reaching a hand out to nab a cookie and immediately shoving it into my mouth.

            Sebastian shakes his head at me while Fenris snorts.

            “The gingersnaps here are second only to the cinnamon rolls,” I say once I swallow. “A close second.”

            “That’s because I make all of them,” a voice behind me drawls.

            I turn to see a blonde man grinning at us while the woman I recognize as _the_ Cousland rolls her eyes. “You can barely keep from burning water, Alistair.”

            “That was one time! One time!” The man—Alistair—protests.

            Varric chuckles from where he’s standing beside them. “That takes talent, kid.”

            “It was a gentle scorch of the pan, alright?” Alistair seems very intent on clearing his name.

            Cousland— _the_ Cousland—rolls her eyes. “A gentle scorch, then.” She’s incredibly tall and poised.

            “Elissa, Alistair—this is Hawke and Sebastian. And you’ve met Fenris before when we were hiring.” Varric supplies the introductions.

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. And to see you again, Fenris.” Elissa smiles. “You’re the Wicked Grace players Varric’s told me about?”

            “We make an attempt to play, at the very least.” I answer.

            “Ah, you’re not half bad, Hawke.” Varric assures me. “Now Choir Boy, on the other hand…”

            I laugh as Elissa starts giving Sebastian pointers on Wicked Grace, and Alistair complains to Fenris about being married to an evil mastermind.

            It’s a little after eleven when Fenris and I find ourselves pressed up against each other in the crowded café area, and he’s telling me about New Years Eve in Tokyo. “There were fireworks over the bay, but I was at one of the shrines. The bells ring at midnight, with everyone crowded together.”

            “They ring bells?” I ask, not having to speak too loudly as we’re standing practically on top of each other.

            Fenris nods. “Over a hundred times. The last bell is the first to ring in the new year.”

            “That sounds amazing,” I answer honestly.

            “It really is,” Fenris murmurs back, his chest rumbling.

            “Hawke.” Isabela’s sharp voice pulls me from the haze that Fenris’s voice creates. She’s appeared next to me, and reaches out for my arm. “Anders is here.”

            “Anders?” My stomach turns. _Anders is here? Why is Anders here? He’s not supposed to even be in Kirkwall!_

“I just saw him. I thought you could use a heads up.” Isabela’s brown eyes are hard. “And Kristoff is here as well.”

            The hair on the back of my neck raises as I stare at Isabela, breath catching and refusing to move from where it’s stuck in my lungs.

            “Hawke?” Fenris sounds far away.

            _Kristoff Justice. With Anders._

“What the _hell_ are they doing here?” I can hear my voice has a tinge of hysteria.

            “They’re old friends of Elissa’s. Hawke, breathe.” Isabela says firmly.

            My hands are shaking as I try to smooth back my hair.

            _Can’t see them. Don’t want to see them. Can’t._

_Get a grip, Marie!_

I feel my throat constricting as I glance over Isabela’s shoulder, my eyes darting from face to face. And I catch a glimpse of them. They’re both speaking to Elissa, Anders laughing and Justice wearing a steely expression.

            My feet shuffle back, away from their direction, and I bump into Fenris. “I need to go,” I say thickly, thoughts spinning and bouncing around inside of my head. “I’ll just—”

            “Fenris?” Isabela stands in front of me, blocking my view of them.

            “Let’s go,” Fenris slips his hand into mine gently, tugging me away from the side of the room.

            “Don’t let them see her,” Isabela orders, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure they’re distracted.”

            I just want _out._

            _Fist slams against my face. Stagger back. Slam into the wall. Screams at me._

Fenris pulls me toward the back exit, and I shudder, wanting just to be away from them.

            Then we’re outside, cold air hitting my face and I’m breathing heavily.

            “Hawke.”

            My eyes are unfocused as I try to look at Fenris. “Sorry. I—I—sorry.”

            Suddenly his hands are on either side of my face, cupping my cheeks. “Do you need to go somewhere else?”

            I try to swallow and end up half-choking. “Just away. I don’t know why they’re here. They left Kirkwall. They’re not supposed to be here.”

            “Come on,” Fenris says evenly, putting his hand in mine again.

            I follow him wordlessly, still trying to get the image of the two of them, just moments ago, in the same room, out of my head.

            We stand at the bus stop in the freezing cold, and Fenris doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask anything. He just keeps our fingers intertwined.

            I keep glancing over my shoulder, terrified that I’ll see Anders and Justice leaving the party.

            “Hawke, I’ll keep an eye out for anyone coming this way.” Fenris tells me quietly.

            I drag my eyes away from _Cousland’s_ door to Fenris’s face. He looks almost _angry._ I try to take a deep breath in and it makes more of a shuddering sound instead. “I’ll be fine, if you want to go back to the party.”

            “Not a chance,” Fenris murmurs, the hard look in his eyes now registering as something protective instead.

            I lean into him, burying my face in his chest and trying to stop shivering. “I didn’t expect to see them again.” My voice is muffled in his coat.

            “You know them well?”

            “Too well,” I answer.

            He doesn’t ask anything, just stays there with me.

            When the bus comes, we sit toward the middle, though there are only three other people riding as well. Everyone else is probably still at parties. Which is where Fenris and I should be. Instead of on a bus while I shiver and stare blankly at the fraying gray of the seat back in front of us.

            “I’m sorry, Fenris.”

            “There’s no need to be.” Fenris answers quietly.

            Fenris stands up at an unfamiliar stop, and I follow him off, realizing that this is the area of town his apartment is in. Isabela and I have picked him up a few times.

            Our hands are still clasped together as he pulls a key out from the pocket of his coat and unlocks the door to his first-floor apartment.

            It’s small and dark, and when Fenris flips the lights on, the furniture is sparse. It’s a studio apartment, and Fenris gently drops my hand to move over to the little kitchen area against the right wall.

            “Tea?”

            I nod wordlessly. My heart’s back to a normal speed, and I feel now more like an idiot than before. Fenris pulls out a kettle from a cabinet, fills it with water from the sink, and puts it on the single burner.

            I watch him biting my lip and feeling the embarrassment build.

            When Fenris turns back to look at me, his face is tired. “I won’t accept an apology.”

            “I feel incredibly stupid,” I mutter under my breath.

            The corner of his mouth lifts as he takes a few steps toward me. “Don’t.”

            “You should be back at _Cousland’s_ enjoying little gingersnaps and listening to drunk people screaming ‘happy new year’ at each other.” I duck my head.

            “I’d rather be here.” Fenris’s voice is low.

            “Dealing with my overreaction?” I wince as I look up at him.

            “Is it an overreaction?” He asks softly.

            “I don’t know. I haven’t seen either of them in over a year. Anders and Justice, that is. I thought I was never going to see them again. They were supposed to be moving back in with friends in Amaranthine.”

            Fenris hesitates. “They were…”

            “Anders and I were together for a year.” I blurt it out before I remember that there’s supposed to be an unspoken rule talking about exes on dates. But I guess this isn’t a date any more, since I screwed everything up.

            Fenris’s eyebrows furrow. “And the other man? Kristoff?”

            “He goes by Justice—his last name. He’s probably the worst thing to ever happen to Anders.” I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. “I met them through an activist group I joined sophomore year. Anders was a senior, and I was just surprised that he noticed me at all. But the more time I spent with him the more I realized how _angry_ he was. Justice was worse, though. There were times when he would just… go off the deep end.”

            Fenris watches me with an unreadable expression. “They hurt you.”

            “When it all blew up, yeah. I’d been watching them spiral into something really _off_.” I fold my arms across my chest, looking at the old carpet again. “Justice kept pushing Anders until they were keeping secrets, doing things that I heard second-hand about. They could’ve been arrested, but they were so stuck on being some kind of vigilantes. I was worried about Anders. And we got into a fight about it one night.”

            I don’t think I can look up at Fenris, but I’m already blabbering about it all. “Justice and Anders were drunk. I was angry at something stupid they’d tried to pull at a rally—to raise minimum wage of all things. Something just snapped. Justice hit me. I was so surprised; I just… just stood there. And then—he kept going. And Anders was so drunk he just slurred something about fighting for what’s right. My own boyfriend sat there while his best friend shoved me into a wall and hit me over and over again. Justice didn’t stop until he swung a punch too wide and fell into the wall. I’m not even sure how I made it out of their apartment that night. I woke up the next morning with bloody bruises all over my face and the worst headache of my life.”

            I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, tears tracking down my cheeks as I try to wipe them away.

            _You and your stupid mouth, Marie._

“So I haven’t seen Justice since then. Anders showed up the next day. Didn’t even apologize. Just said he knew I wouldn’t want to see him again and that he and Justice were leaving Kirkwall to join an activist group in Amaranthine with some old friends.” I continue to ramble between sniffs. “So I was just surprised to see them. Surprised.”

            The kettle whistles and I hear Fenris move quietly away from me, the clank of glasses and then he returns with a steaming mug.

            I meet his eyes hesitantly, only to find them hard.

            “So I might have overreacted a bit.” I say in a small voice.

            “Overreacted?” Fenris growls, and I blink at him in surprise. “They’re monsters more than men. I would’ve liked to—” Fenris cuts himself off, shaking his head. He presses the mug into my hands. “That’s not important now,” he mutters. “Do you want to sit down?”

            I nod, wondering if my eyes are as puffy as they feel. I can’t believe I just cried in front of Fenris about my ex-boyfriend. I’m not sure I could make this night worse.

            _Knock on wood._

The sofa is a faded white plaid print, and the coffee table in front of it has an empty wine bottle and a water glass. I sink down onto the sofa, trying not to spill the tea or do anything else stupid.

            “Fenris, I’m sor—”

            “Hawke, for God’s sake.” Fenris says tightly. “Don’t apologize to me. I know what it feels like to be hurt by someone you trust. I’ve been there.” He sits next to me, his face drawn and eyes blazing. “You owe no one apologies.”

            “Oh. I…” I put the mug down on the coffee table, pulling together pieces for a few moments. “The person who commissioned your artwork. Why you had to run. He was the one who hurt you, wasn’t he?”

            Fenris nods, the movement strained. “So you don’t need to explain yourself to me.”

            I exhale slowly, a little shiver running over my skin. “I wish I _did_ have to. I get the feeling that you know about this- about being hurt by someone you trust- much more than I do.”

            Fenris’s expression softens as he looks at me, and he grabs the blanket down from the back of the sofa, placing it over our legs as he moves to pull me closer to him. “It isn’t something I would wish on another.”

            I nestle into him. “You can tell me about it. If you want to. Only if you want to.”

            “I know.” Fenris says into my hair.

            “Good.” I decide, only to sniff again. “And for the record, I don’t usually cry this much. Unless it’s over extremely bombed tests or movies that involve animals dying.”

            Fenris chuckles, the sound vibrating down the side I have pressed against him. “Is that so?”

            “It is!” I protest loudly.

            “Hm.” Fenris tilts his face forward and kisses me softly.

            I keep my eyes closed even after he pulls away, smiling to myself.

            That gets another kiss, this time on my nose.

            I break into a full grin this time, opening my eyes slowly to find Fenris watching me, his lips curved up.

            “Happy New Year, Hawke.”

            “It’s the new year?” I gasp, looking around wildly for a clock. Fenris just pulls his phone out of his pocket, and 12:07 flashes across the screen.

            “We missed the exact time! We’re supposed to chant the countdown and scream at exactly midnight!” I flail my hands uselessly.

            “I see. We can wait up until its midnight the next time zone over,” Fenris suggests, though he seems just to be amused.

            I sigh loudly. “It’s not the same. Oh well.” I relax, leaning back on his chest, my shoulders under his arm. He rests his chin on the top of my head.

            “Then, Happy New Year, Fenris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there! This was a bit of a hard chapter to write despite having this planned since the beginning of this fic as it deals with more sensitive topics outside of Hawke being generally awkward and endearing.
> 
> I also noticed I made some annoying screw-ups with tone last chapter and edited it for a bit of a fix! Sorry about any grammatical/continuity errors. I try to edit multiple times before I post, but now that I'm back with work and classes, I get really bad about not wanting to re-read chapters than a few times. 
> 
> Either way, ten chapters down! Thank you to everyone reading, following, and commenting. ^^


	11. Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussion of a past abusive relationship.

            “Let me see if I have this right,” Isabela presses her fingers to her temples dramatically. “It was just the two of you. In his apartment. On New Years Eve. You spent the night. Canoodling on his couch. And fell asleep. And you _didn’t have sex_.”

            “Why is that such a big deal?” I retort, getting up from the ugly plaid sofa and taking Merrill’s mug from her. I bump into the trashcan on the way to the sink, rounding the island counters that we use as a bar since there’s no room for a table in our apartment. “We haven’t been dating for very long. And you know I take that kind of thing seriously.”

            “That kind of thing?” Isabela echoes with an eye roll. “Can you not say the big scary word, Kitten?”

            “Ooh, sex? I never thought it was a very big word at all. Only three letters,” Merrill chimes in helpfully.

            I scowl at them over the islands as I grab the fraying, slightly pungent sponge and decide to get a new one from under the sink. “You know, Fenris and I are doing quite well managing the timing of our own relationship.”

            Isabela sighs loudly as she stretches, pushing her enormous chest out, and stands. “Depends on your definition of ‘well’. I was worried for a while it wouldn’t progress beyond his puppy eyes and your terrible flirting.”

            The new sponge smells a lot less like rotting cabbage, and I wash the mug while Merrill giggles, “He just has such sweet puppy eyes, Isabela!”

            “He does, doesn’t he?” Isabela winks at me. “Now come on, Hawke. I thought I was taking you with me to _Cousland’s_ so you and Fenris can go on one of your passionless dates.”

            “Let’s go,” I grump, setting the mug down on the drying rack. “I’m playing music in your car so you can’t keep talking about this.”

            “Poor Hawke,” Isabela simpers as we pull on our shoes.

            Merrill waves goodbye as we head out to the street. Once in Isabela’s car, I find a radio station playing some loud pop song and crank up the volume. When the chorus comes in, I recognize it and sing along at the top of my lungs, in case the previous discouragement wasn’t enough.

            Isabela apparently thinks it’s hilarious, and laughs almost the entire way. The snow is coming down heavily today, covering the grassy patches on the side of the road in white, though it’s just warm enough to leave the roads clear.

            When we get to _Cousland’s_ , Isabela throws her arm around me and makes me stop before we can go inside.

            “I wanted to tell you—I talked to Anders and Kristoff at the party. I probably should’ve called you yesterday, but I thought you were maybe in a post-Fenris loving haze.” Isabela’s voice is light, but her dark eyes are serious. She’s the only friend I know who calls Justice by his first name—Isabela had sworn that Justice was overdramatic and ridiculous, and would just go to his head and make him feel like some superhero. Which hs definitely is not.

            My mood plummets at the mention of Anders, and I nod, no longer humming pop songs. “Did he say he was just stopping through?”

            Isabela’s expression turns sympathetic. “Unfortunately not. He and Kristoff will be staying indefinitely. They’re looking for work here.”

            I stare at Isablea while the information sinks it. _They’re staying in Kirkwall. Here. The city’s big enough where I won’t run into them, right?_ “I’m totally going to run into them at some point, aren’t I?” I ask quietly, trying to shake the creeping feeling that squeezes uncomfortably inside my chest.

            “It’s likely.” Isabela’s arm around my shoulder pulls me closer. “I wanted to give you a warning. I know it won’t make it easier, but short of chasing them out of the city with sticks, I don’t know how much we can do.”

            I take a deep breath, my eyes flicking to the windows of _Cousland_ , confirming that the two faces I want to see least of all aren’t present. “Thanks for the heads up,” I tell Isabela.

            “Of course, Kitten.” Isabela plants a kiss on the side of my head. “Now let’s go see that delicious man to lift our spirits.”

            I snort, trying to push thoughts of Anders and Justice out of my mind. “Are you going to guess the color of his underwear again?”

            Isabela wiggles her eyebrows. “You could always just find out for me. And to clarify, Kitten, I mean take off his pants.”

            “Oh my God,” I smack my hand over my face, accidentally poking my eye. “Ouch!”

            Isabela chortles happily at my misfortune as we push inside to warmth and the smell of cinnamon.

            Fenris is waiting at one of the back tables toward the bookstore area, Velanna at the bookstore cash register looking extremely bored with life. She perks up for a moment when she sees Isabela and I, only to have her face fall and return to its usual glare when she realizes who we are.

            “Sorry—were you waiting a while?” I ask Fenris as he stands.

            “Not at all,” Fenris answers while pulling on his jacket. He eyes me suspiciously. “Are you going to be warm enough in that?”

            I have on my marshmallow jacket, fleece-lined leggings, snow boots, and a purple and pink beanie that Bethany knitted for me a few years ago. I sniff indignantly. “Of course I am! Another jacket would have me completely unable to move my arms.”

            “I see.” the corners of Fenris’s mouth twitch.

            “Go on, lovebirds,” Isabela calls as she hops over the counter. Nathaniel is working with her today, and gives her a dry, impassive look, probably deciding not to inform her that she’s late.

            Fenris rolls his eyes while Velanna makes a disgusted sound. “Goodbye, Isabela,” Fenris says evenly as he slips his hand into mine.

            I immediately start grinning, fingers looping through his as we make it back out into the cold.

            Snow flurries fall and catch in Fenris’s dark eyelashes as we keep to the edge of the sidewalk, gray daylight filtering in through patches of clouds.

            “Should I call it treason that we’re going to a coffee shop that’s not _Cousland’s_?” I ask as we stop at a traffic light.

            Fenris arches an eyebrow. “Treason?”

            I nod vigorously. “You know, I haven’t bought a cup of chai from anywhere else since I met Isabela.”

            He laughs. “A loyal friend.”

            “A happy customer,” I counter. “Isabela makes the best drinks ever. Well, not the alcoholic kind. She’s terrible at mixing those. Or maybe really, really, good in a terrible way.”

            “One more reason I turn down her offer of drinks when we’re playing Wicked Grace,” Fenris says sagely.

            I snort, only to have my mouth drop open when I see the park to our right. “This has got to be the most snow we’ve had in years,” I mutter with reverence. I drop Fenris’s hand to stoop down and gather up snow, packing it neatly. “It’s perfect snowman snow!” I exclaim loudly. _That was definitely a girlish scream, Marie._

“How can you tell?” Fenris asks, squinting at the snow in my hands like it’s supposed to be clearly visible.

            “Look how well it packs together!” I can’t seem to get my voice to return to normal pitch. “Haven’t you built a snowman before?”

            Fenris blinks at the question. “I… have not.”

            “What?” I gasp. “Fenris, that’s like… that’s a crime! That’s the real treason here!”

            “You take snowmen very seriously,” Fenris says, clearly amused by my reaction.

            “I’m from Ferelden, Fenris. Anything that has to do with snow and dogs is very serious business.” I hold the snowball between us. “I think a very important lesson might be in order.”

            Fenris looks at me blankly and says slowly, “You want to teach me… how to build a snowman?”

            “If you want to. I know it’s cold—we can keep going. That’s totally fine!” I emphasize quickly, realizing neither of us have gloves and Fenris is only wearing his typical black coat for warmth. “That’s actually a better idea—you’re going to freeze if we stay out here.”

            Fenris just reaches and takes the snowball from me, his eyes warm enough to send a current over my skin, my face probably turning pink from more than the cold. “Hawke. Let’s build a snowman.”

            I think my cheeks might freeze in place with how wide I’m smiling. “Okay. Step one. Prepare to freeze you butt off.”

            Fenris snorts. “Is this mental preparation?”

            “Yes. And a very important step.” I tell him.

            We’re laughing as we roll ourselves the base of the snowmen. Our fingers are completely numb by the time we work on the middle, and my teeth are chattering between giving ridiculous instructions about measuring the snowman’s head to find the perfect circumference size for maximum snowman magic.

            The snow coming down with thicker flakes, though drifting just as slowly when we finish our masterpiece. We have misshapen rocks for eyes, and could only find one decent stick for the right arm. The left arm is a little twig, and the snowman has no mouth or nose.

            “He has character,” I say through chattering teeth.

            Fenris shivers, but he’s chuckling quietly. “Indeed.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling up the camera. “It deserves commemoration.”

            “Snowman selfie!” I shout, though I’m sure my nose is red and I look like something Fluffy dragged in.

            Fenris just laughs again, swapping the camera so we can see ourselves. We both lean in close, cheeks brushing as we get our snowman to fit on the screen, and then Fenris snaps the picture.

            We peer at it together, and I continue the pattern of grinning like an idiot when I see how _happy_ we look.

            Fenris puts his phone away as I get the sudden impulse to lean up and kiss his cheek.

            So I do.

            My lips are equally cold against his skin, but the softness in his expression when I step away makes me do it again.

            The sky is darkening, and all the families who had been at the park disappeared. The only person left is a woman walking her dog on the sidewalk across the snowy grass.

            “I really like you.” I blurt. “I mean, that was probably obvious. But I really do. A lot.”

            Fenris’s face suddenly falls, and he looks away from me. “Hawke, there’s something we need to talk about.”

            My stomach rolls. _Why did I have to say that? He doesn’t feel the same way. Oh my God, why am I so stupid?_ “I—I didn’t think before I said that. I thought we were—Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

            “Hawke.” Fenris reaches behind me to pull up my hood before pushing hair away from my face. “It’s not about that.”

            “Oh.” Relief floods over me and I exhale slowly, though my heart is still pounding in my chest. “Good. That was about to be one of my top embarrassing moments.”

            Fenris chuckles, but the sound is empty. “I… I have to tell you something before we go any further. So you know.” He frowns deeply now, shoving his hands in his pockets.

            “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with, Fenris.” I say, feeling my eyebrows pull together.

            “I need to. You should know. If you don’t want to… to be with me after this, I understand.” Fenris says quietly, looking at his now snow-soaked shoes.

            I loop my arm through his. “Let’s get out of the cold. You’re going to freeze at this rate.”

            “I think I won’t tell you if I don’t do it now.” His voice is low, but strangely hard. “Hawke, you should know why I left London.”

            Biting my lower lip, I take a step back, nodding slowly. “If you think I should know.”

            Fenris takes a deep breath, his eyes moving from his shoes to my face. “I was involved with someone. An art history professor from my university. He told me that before my accident, he had shown interest and I had pursued it. I believed him. What else was there to think? When I woke up in the hospital, he was the only one there. You know I don’t have a family. And I had lost my memories from before. The hospital bills were too high, and he was at my bedside telling me he could cover all of the costs and help me get back on my feet. Bastard.”

            I’m afraid to move. Like if I even shift my weight it’ll make it harder for Fenris to keep talking. The dark green of his eyes are holding onto mine like a lifeline, and I can’t even bring myself to look away. _I know where this story is going. It’s the man who commissioned him. The man who hurt him._

“He told me everything that I knew about myself. He showed me my old paintings once they released me from the hospital, and he told me that I could pay back all the money I borrowed from him by making pieces he commissioned,” Fenris’s voice is barely audible, a low rumble coming from some injured place inside of his chest. “I moved in with him. I was his pet.” He’s louder now as he spits the word out. “He called me ‘Fenris’, for his obsession with collecting animal carvings, paintings, pelts—wolves were his favorite. And I was his little wolf. He _owned_ me.”

            I think that I’m going to be sick. Fenris’s eyes are burning now, but I can’t seem to look away. 

            “Everything I painted wasn’t good enough. I could never pay him back. The debt just kept growing. I hated him, but I had nowhere to go. I was his personal project. These,” Fenris jerks his hands out of his pockets, running his fingers over the back of his left hand, “were his choice. An experiment with ink, since I was useless painting the things he wanted. Since I had nothing of value to offer him other than my own skin.”

            I have to tamp down on the tears I can feel brimming, have to force myself to breathe. _God, Fenris, no._

“I was in the hospital again. One of his outbursts had left me with a cracked rib. He left for a trip—a conference. And I stayed. The nurses and the doctor all seemed to know that I hadn’t simply tripped down the stairs again. I think we all suspected at that point that my original ‘fall’ down the stairs was his doing as well. But all I could think about was how I could never get away because I had nowhere to go.” Fenris’s hands are balled into fists. “When he returned, something snapped. I was released from the hospital, he picked me up, and that night I ran. I owed him more than I could ever dream to pay back, but I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t.”

            I refuse to blink. This is his pain. His story.

            But he seems to be done talking now, the fury in his face frozen. “What I’ve done—who I am— is not something that I would ask you to look past,” Fenris finally looks away, somewhere behind me.

            _What he’s done? It’s what was done to him!_

For a moment, it’s all I can do to remember to keep breathing. I’m shaking, and all I want to do is scream.

            Fenris doesn’t say anything as I grasp at what little is left of my composure. “Fenris?”

            It draws his eyes back to mine, his expression unreadable.

            “Is it alright… is alright to touch you?” I ask, though that wasn’t quite what I wanted to say.

            Fenris exhales sharply, as if that’s also the last thing he expected to hear. But something caught between wanting and relief flashes across his face before he leans into me.

            I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close enough that I wish I could just fall into him completely.

            We stand like that while I try to wrap my head around it all. Around the full story. Though I know that’s not even the full story. He must have left out so much.

            The thought makes me tighten my grip, keeping myself plastered against him.

            “Hawke.” Fenris says quietly.

            I take a deep breath before letting go, though I don’t step back very far as I look up at him. “Thank you. For telling me.”

            Fenris nods, his shoulders slightly hunched. It’s so strange how his bowed shoulders don’t take away from how graceful he looks, the white lines of the tattoos that were forced on him curving over his chin. “I thought it best that you knew now. I can’t ask you to be with me, Hawke. In any way. If he were to find me now—”

            “He would have to get through me before he could lay a finger on you. That ridiculous debt you owe can go to hell with him.” I grit my teeth.

            “I didn’t tell you what happened so you could become involved. But you needed to know the truth. I understand if you don’t want this anymore,” Fenris tells me flatly.

            The anger ebbs away a little bit as I look into familiar eyes with a very sharp understanding now of why they can be so guarded. “It’s… a lot.” I murmur.

            Fenris tenses, though he nods again. “I understand.”

            “You’ve been through a lot,” I say, some part of my mind still trying to catch up with the truth of Fenris’s past. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I mean, _I_ understand if you need more time. Or to go slower. Or not to go at all. If that makes sense.” I babble.

            “Hawke.”

            “Yeah?”

            Fenris stares at me as a particularly large snowflake lands on the bridge of his nose for a moment before melting.

            “I’ve spent the last several years giving myself time. If you’re sure that this hasn’t changed your mind—”

            “No. I still care about you. I still want to be with you.”

            Fenris raises one of his hands, cupping my cheek, seemingly searching for the right words.

            Instead, he dips his head, pressing his mouth to mine for a moment before he deepens the kiss. His other hand comes up to frame my face, gently holding my icy cheeks as my own hands move to hold on to the lapels of his coat.

            The image of Fenris in a hospital bed comes to mind, and my grip on his coat tightens as I pull back to press a kiss against the tattoos on his chin—the ones he didn’t choose.

            Fenris’s eyes are still closed as he drops his hands to my waist. I move my mouth lightly up his jaw, having to get on my toes to reach the top of his cheekbone. I can still see the stitches on the top of his forehead from our first date in the warehouse, from where he stepped between me and the drunk throwing punches.

            “Who you are,” I whisper, kissing a line back down his cheek, “Is who I see in front of me right now. There’s nothing to look past.”

            Fenris breathes out slowly before his lips find mine again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note Added: Thank you so much for reading through both the funny Hawkeward moments and the serious- I really, really appreciate the feedback since I tend to be just a wee bit sleep deprived when writing and editing.
> 
> \--I totally love constructive criticism. That being said, please (times a million and a half) keep the criticism *constructive* so I can know how to improve my writing (and the fic in general) for everyone's maximum enjoyment! Comments usually make my day, and the world of fanfiction writing is meant to be fun and supportive. And my very tired brain usually doesn't process the pure negativity very well. I've never deleted a comment until now, and hopefully will never need to again.--
> 
> Thank you again for reading this far! ^^ Next update should be all cute and Hawkeward.


	12. The Wrong Kind of Self-Defense

            The door opens, revealing Bethany in her pajamas with a huge grin on her face.

            I start squealing, the high pitch making Fluffy bark and come bolting out to the porch, jumping around Bethany and I as we throw our arms around each other and waddle back and forth in a hug.

            “I’m so proud of you!” I screech in her ear.

            “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!” Bethany shrieks back as we proceed to spin around in circles.

            “My baby sister is going to freaking Japan!” I shout into the night.

            Carver appears in the doorway, his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. “Come inside or I’ll close the door and leave you in the cold,” he grumps.

            Bethany and I break apart and rush inside, Fluffy at our heels. Carver mutters under his breath, “Girls.”

            Bethany wrinkles her nose at him and I smack his arm. “Carver, please tell me you at least congratulated Bethy for getting into her program.”

            Carver shrugs. “It’s cool. I hope you have enough money for a plane ticket over,” Carver gripes to Bethany.

            “Butt,” I tell him.

            Bethany just rolls her eyes and leans down to pat Fluffy as he continues to bark at the excitement. “I have enough, thanks. And the expenses are paid for the program itself, you know.”

            “Good,” Carver grumbles. He stares at Bethany for a moment, and I realize he looks _sad_. “Congrats.”

            I stand on my toes to ruffle Carver’s hair. “Don’t worry, Carver. You’ll have me to keep you company.”

            Carver ducks away with a scowl as Mom pokes her head around the wall that separates the kitchen from the entryway. “Marie, I didn’t realize you were stopping by.”

            “Bethany got into her program, Mom!” I shout again.

            Mom actually rolls her eyes. “Yes, I heard. We’re very proud of her, aren’t we, Carver?”

            Carver grunts.

            Mom’s holding a dish towel as she comes to stand next to Bethany and kisses her cheek. “My baby girl is growing up so fast.”

            Bethany laughs. “I’m not a baby anymore, Mom.”

            “You know you’ll always be my babies. All of you,” Mom says, her eyes growing misty.

            Carver makes a noise of disgust and leaves, heading into the kitchen that is now free of emotional people.

            “How did you both get so old?” Mom asks, smoothing her gray hair back away from her face. “Heaven help me, it was just yesterday you were little girls with pigtails and scraped knees.”

            “Don’t remind me of the pigtail phase,” Bethany winces, the big brown eyes that once matched our Dad’s identically squinting at the memory.

            I giggle, giving Bethany another hug. “It was adorable.”

            “It was terrible,” Bethany retorts. “Carver nailed them to the bedpost.”

            “That was your braid,” Carver calls flatly from the kitchen.

            “You’re still a butt!” I shout back.

            Fluffy starts barking again, in which I assume is a woof of agreement.

            Mom sighs. “Heavens, I forget what it’s like to have all of you in a confined space.”

            “Well I’m heading out again. I just wanted to come congratulate Bethany in person.” I grin at her again, practically bursting with pride. The program has less than a twenty percent acceptance rate, and her portfolio and personal essay were good enough for the reviewers.

            “Oh?” Bethany raises her eyebrows knowingly. “Fenris?”

            I nod, cringing as Mom opens her mouth. “Fenris? Are you two very serious now? Is he still working at the bookstore?”

            “Yes, sort of, and yes.” I answer quickly, throwing a quick look of betrayal at Bethany.

            Mom continues her interrogation. “Have you two discussed what’s going to happen if you get a job outside of Kirkwall after graduation?”

            “We’re not really at that point yet, Mom,” I start backing toward the door after giving Fluffy a quick scratch behind the ears. “We’re just happy being together for now.” I fling open the door. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Bethy! Bye, Carver! Love you!”

            I quickly close the door behind me and run in the frigid cold back to the bus stop, holding onto my purse strap with one hand.

            _Bethany’s going to Japan._ It really sinks in as I sit on the bus, cheek smooshed against the window after I let Fenris know I’m on my way. _My baby sister is going all the way to Japan._

Of course she was amazing enough to get in. But somehow I didn’t really think _that_ much about her leaving until now. Japan. Wow.

            My baby sister is leaving. My heart finally slows from all of the excitement and it seems to sink instead.

            When the bus screeches to a standstill at the stop close to Fenris’s apartment, head off only to find Fenris waiting, his typical black beanie a sharp contrast to the pieces of white hair that hang over his forehead.

            It makes me smile again as he lifts a hand in greeting.

            “Hey,” I say, trying to make myself sound happy and just coming across as loud instead.

            “Is Bethany excited?” Fenris asks as we start down the street. We decided on staying in tonight and watching a movie since classes start for me tomorrow morning. My last semester of college. God, that’s terrifying as much as it is exciting.

            I nod. “Very. We all are. Except Carver, but that’s because he’s Carver.” I can’t get my voice to have more enthusiasm.

            Fenris tilts his head slightly, and I can tell he’s studying me. “Are you still worried she’s going to have trouble? Japan is very safe, Hawke.”

            I bite my lip as we round a street corner, now in a darker alley where the street lamp flickers pathetically. “Probably much safer than Kirkwall, I know. And I’m sure Bethany can handle herself. It’s just strange to think that she won’t be here anymore. I’ve never been more than a twenty-minute drive from her before. It might sound really stupid, but I just realized that it’ll be the first time that we’ve been apart since she was born. When we lost everything in Ferelden…” I shake my head. “We’ve been through so much together. It just doesn’t seem real that at the end of this semester, she’ll be leaving to fly across the ocean.”

            Fenris gets his key out of his pocket as we reach his apartment complex. “You have her—you have a family. Distance won’t change that.”

            I follow him inside the apartment, the dim lighting inside not much brighter than the street illuminated by dying lamps. _Fenris doesn’t even have a family, Marie. Very tactful._

“Have you ever thought about trying to find your sister?” I ask softly as Fenris pauses in the middle of removing his coat.

            “I didn’t try very hard in Britain,” Fenris answers, before he finishes pulling off the coat and drapes it over the back of a folding chair. His lips are pressed into a thin line. “We were in the foster-care system together until we were eighteen. If she never contacted me, I can only assume we didn’t part on the best terms.”

            “You don’t know that,” I say quickly, stripping off my marshmallow jacket. “There could be any variety of reasons. Do you think you would want to find her now? Or at least try looking again?”

            Fenris leans forward, resting his hands on the stained card-table that stands between the two folding chairs. “There’s so much about my past that I don’t know. Finding her would be… helpful.”

            “Then we should do what we can to find out more.” I tell him.

            Fenris gives me the half-smile, and I feel like my heart is about to melt into a puddle. His eyes are gentle, and I now understand why Merrill described them as sweet puppy eyes. Except they’re the most beautiful green I’ve ever seen in my life and can turn into smoldering in an instant. “I would like that.”

            I step around the table to wrap my arms around him, the loose sleeves of my sweater hanging loosely as I clasp my hands behind his back and lean my head on his chest. “And for now,” I say into his shirt that smells like fresh laundry and is soft against my face, “you get to choose your own family. Varric and Sebastian, and then Aveline and Donnic. Isabela. Merrill. And me. Maybe Velanna since you seem to be one of the only people she tolerates.”

            Fenris laughs, his chest rumbling, and one of his hands moves to the small of my back, the other running lightly through my hair. “Velanna and I have an understanding.”

            “That you two can brood together in broody silence?”

            “I don’t brood.” Fenris retorts before he sighs. “I don’t know what it’s like to miss someone. But from what I see of you and Bethany, being across the world from each other won’t change that you’re family.”

            “It’s still going to suck.” I mumble in a small voice. “I mean, it’s exciting. And it’s great. And I’m so, so proud of her. But I didn’t realize until now that we’ve never been apart before. What about Saturday morning chocolate chip pancakes? Who’s going to pester her about not drinking?” I gasp with great horror as I step back from Fenris. “Who’s going to taste test her baking creations? That’s something only I can do.”

            Fenris snorts. “She’ll be fine, Hawke.”

            “Yeah, she will.” I take a deep breath before nodding to myself. “And our new project for now can be looking into where your sister might be.”

            “I actually found something, on the subject of projects.”

            “Yeah?”

            Fenris leans down to rustle through one of his coat pockets from its resting place on the chair and pulls out a little folded piece of blue paper. He smoothens it out and hands it to me.

 

            _Self-Defense Classes. Sponsored by the Kirkwall Police Department and the University of Kirkwall. Led by Duncan Grey in the Kirkwall Central Gym, Wednesday nights at 6:30 through February 24 th._

“It’s every week starting this Wednesday until then.” Fenris says as I skim over the description.

            “A self-defense class?” I look at Fenris as I cringe. “Is this because I got a vase slammed over your head?”

            Fenris makes an exasperated noise. “It’s because we live in Kirkwall, and because you should know how to keep anyone from hurting you.”

            I hold up my hands. “I’m not incompetent! I mean, I know the typical ‘kick him where it hurts’ and ‘go for the eyes’.” I’m now flailing my hands around as I continue to blabber. “And then there’s that thing where you’re supposed to go for the back of the knees, right? And something about not hitting with a closed fist?”

            Fenris looks like it physically pains him to watch me as the corners of his mouth twitch. “Maybe you could go to the class to share your expertise.”

            “Not an expert,” I grumble under my breath.

            “I just saw it and thought of you.” Fenris says evenly. “It might be worthwhile.”

            I look back at the paper again as the heat finally fades from my face. “Maybe I’ll check it out. It’s something that my mom has actually been pestering me to do since I was in elementary school.”

            Fenris looks at me with surprise. “Were you in fights as a child?”

            I laugh at that. “No, not at all. Well, just one.” I tap the bridge of my nose, where the red scar stretches across, a thin, raised line. “And it was just because Bethany and I were always the strange kids in elementary school. Carver fit right in, but Bethany and I spent all of recess telling each other stories and building sandcastles that our dragons could come destroy.”

            “Your dragons?” Fenris asks, crossing his arms as he observes me skeptically.

            “Yes, our dragons,” I answer like it’s incredibly obvious. “Bethany’s was orange with pink polka dots, and mine was black with yellow stripes.”

            “So a giant, fire breathing bee?”

            “Exactly. Except instead of fire, my dragon breathed butterflies that simply smashed the sandcastle to the ground.” I’m struggling to keep a straight face.

            “Ah. I see. A butterfly breathing dragon bee.” Fenris summarizes with seemingly great concern for elementary school-Marie’s mental health.

            “Yup. Anyway, story is that Bethany and I mostly kept to ourselves and our couple of friends from our classes,” I explain. “When I was in fifth grade, and Bethany in second, these kids found us after school when we were drawing houses in the sand so they could pick on Bethany. I didn’t know them—they were all from her class. But one of them pushed Bethany and I tackled him without even thinking. And then he punched me in the face, my glasses broke and smashed into my nose and my mom was convinced that I needed to take a self-defense class ever since.”

            Fenris shakes his head. “You haven’t changed a bit, Hawke.”

            “I don’t have an imaginary dragon any more, if that was your concern.” I assure him.

            Fenris smirks. “I see.” He leans down briefly to kiss the bridge of my nose, his lips warm against the scar. “Should we watch a movie about dragons, then?”

            “Mm,” I try to make it sound like I’m pondering, but it comes out like a contended hum. “I do like dragons.” I tilt my face so I can catch his mouth with my own.

            We end up watching a movie without dragons, but it’s all right because I like Fenris much more than I like dragons. And the movie keeps my eyed glued to the laptop screen, completely invested until the credits roll and I sink back into the back of the sofa, only to nestle into Fenris’s shoulder.

            “Oh my God, I have classes tomorrow,” I realize with a groan. “And work again.”

            “How early do you need to be up?” Fenris asks, his tired voice even more gravelly than usual.

            “Seven.” I glance at the time on his laptop and realize it’s already midnight.

            Fenris sits up, his hair slightly mussed. “Working the afternoon and late night shift does have its advantages,” Fenris says as he stands, holding out his hand.

            I take it and let him pull me to my feet as I continue to groan. “Classes. Why?”

            Fenris walks me back to the bus stop in the cold, our hands clasped together and in the pocket of his coat. The street is abandoned, and once we reach the bus stop, I huddle close to him as we talk about his work schedule this week so I can stop by after classes one day.

            When the bus comes, I kiss his cheek and scurry on board.

            I almost fall asleep on the way back to the apartment, walking in a half-haze as I make it back, only having to avoid one drunk guy who actually seems relatively harmless as he stumbles aimlessly.

            Merrill’s still up when I walk in, sitting at the bar as I begin to make a cup of peppermint tea.

            “You’re in love.” Merrill says suddenly, and my head jerks up.

            “What?”

            She smiles knowingly. “I could see it in the way Fenris watched you, but you have that sort of cloud around you, too. It’s very sweet.”

            I feel my cheeks flush as I grab a mug. “We haven’t even been together that long, Merrill. Neither of us are ready to rush into anything.”

            Merrill just continues to grin sweetly at me. “It’s not rushing if it’s how you feel, Hawke.”

            “Not rushing.” I repeat, pouring the boiling water into my mug and yawning as I let the tea steep. “Everything just feels so natural with him. I mean, I thought I was in love before, but I was just being stupid. So I don’t want to move too fast again.”

            “You don’t have to be afraid of your own feelings,” Merrill says, and I realize she’s eating a plate full of kale and nearly gag.

            “I’m not afraid of them!” I protest, raising the mug to my lips without thinking.

            I immediately spit out the still blistering water, coughing.

            “You really ought to stop doing that, Hawke,” Merrill informs me.

            “No kidding,” I gasp, setting down the mug to grab a glass of water. “See what talk about feelings leads to?”

            “I don’t think we can relate your tendency to drink hot things with you being afraid to admit how you feel about Fenris.” Merrill giggles.

            I grimace at her. “I’m very in touch with my feelings. Except with being able to feel my tongue. I think I might have permanently damaged my taste buds.”

            Merrill shakes her head, overlarge eyes kind. “You’ll see, Hawke.”

            “Right, right.” I retreat to my room, trying unsuccessfully not to spill tea all over myself.


	13. Do Open-Mic Nights Count as Art Expos?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience with the update-break this month! And, as always, thank you for reading. Happy Monday!

            The Hanged Man is extremely crowded tonight, and I end up plastered against Isabela's side as we order drinks at the bar.

            “Why is everyone suddenly so excited to drink the shit here?” Isabela complains loudly. Fridays are usually _busier_ , but this is insane.

            Someone pushes past me and shoves me further into Isabela, and I grab onto her arm to keep my balance. “Maybe because there’s a super exciting new drink to try?” I suggest, though I’m not sure the bartender, Corff, has ever tried to make anything remotely exciting. Unless it involved adding more or less ice to something.

            Fenris seems to be thinking along the same lines and snorts from behind me.

            “There—Varric’s got a table in the back.” Sebastian, the tallest of our ragtag group, gestures with his chin, hands occupied holding the tray with our drinks.

            “Anyone want to be a battering ram?” I mutter under my breath.

            Isabela rolls her eyes. “Come on, Kitten.” She lets me cling onto her as she squeezes around a group of people and then just plows through another, somehow managing to avoid getting elbowed.

            I catch a glimpse of Saemus Dumar at the bar— _haven’t seen him since last semester._

            We seem to make eye contact and I do the awkward little wave only to realize he doesn’t actually see me. Wincing at myself and hoping nobody saw, I let Isabela slide into the booth first and plop down on the edge of the fraying seat covers, across from Fenris and Sebastian as they sit as well.

            “What’s going on tonight, Varric?” Sebastian asks, having to raise his voice to be heard over the clamor.

            “They’re trying open mic night.” Varric supplies.

            “Great. So we’ll get to listen to 80’s love songs and drunk renditions of the Backstreet Boys.” I say, distributing the drinks from the tray.

            Aveline raises her beer to that as Donnic laughs, “I’m not sure anyone sings the Backstreet Boys anymore, Hawke.”

            I wordlessly jerk my thumb at Isabela and she grins impishly. “What can I say? ‘I Want it That Way’ will always have a special place in my heart. And Justin Timberlake is easy on the eyes.”

            “He was in NSYNC, not Backstreet Boys,” Aveline takes a swig of her beer while glaring at Isabela.

            Isabela just wiggles her eyebrows. “Did I find a boy-band fan just now? In Aveline Vallen? Hawke, write this down—this is a historical moment.”

            Aveline turns faintly pink. “Everyone knows that Justin Timberlake was in NSYNC. It has nothing to do with being a… a boy-band fan.”

            “Mhmm.” Isabela leans across the table with a giant grin on her face.

            “There’s nothing wrong with liking NSYNC,” I tell Isabela quickly, sensing Aveline’s growing embarrassment as pink cheeks begin matching her hair.

            “Of course not. Even our Captain Vallen of Kirkwall City Police loves her some Justin Timberlake.” Isabela winks. “Will you sing for us, Aveline? Pretty, pretty please?”

            “If it’ll shut you up, I might actually consider it.” Aveline grouses.

            Donnic looks at her in surprise. “Really?”

            “No,” Aveline answers shortly.

            “You’re no fun,” Isabela pouts, sitting back in her seat.

            I lean forward to sip beer from the giant mug as Sebastian and Fenris begin talking about Sebastian’s next mission trip.

            It’s always obvious Fenris and Sebastian don’t see eye to eye on religion, but Fenris is still politely considerate whenever Sebastian brings it up.

            “How was your first week back in classes, Hawke?” Aveline asks, drawing my attention to the back end of the wrap around booth.

            I think about it for a moment. “Hell.” I summarize.

            Aveline arches an eyebrow. “I see. I thought you were going to take courses you could slack in since this is your last semester.”

            “Yeah, that was the idea. But then I was assigned three hundred pages to read for one class this weekend. And an essay due next Friday in another.” I list, making a face as I do so. “Oh, there’s also a timeline to make for History of the Korean War.”

            “What happened to not taking history ever again?” Aveline asks, eyes narrowing. She was on the receiving end of many rants last semester.

            “I… thought the class sounded interesting?” I answer pathetically. As a Peace-Studies major, I get to pick and choose through History and Political Science courses since it’s an interdisciplinary field. But somehow, even with the huge selection of courses, I always end up taking the most demanding classes possible.

            Aveline just shakes her head and goes back to drinking her beer.

            “Are you still looking into getting another apartment?” I ask Aveline.

            Donnic is the one who answers. “Yes—we even found one about ten minutes away from the station. We’re in the middle of a bit of a bid war for it right now.”

            “Which is going to make it unaffordable,” Aveline says grimly. “Honestly, I’d be content with having an apartment that has consistent warm water and less roaches.”

            I cringe. “Can’t say I blame you.”

            Isabela pulls out her phone and searches for apartments in Kirkwall, and we scoot closer to Aveline and Donnic as we sort through the results.

            When I empty my mug, I get up to grab refills for us, using the tray Sebastian set down on the table earlier.

            I pass Saemus as I walk alongside the row of barstools. He’s frowning deeply, a blonde woman very much in his personal space. I can’t see her face, but I can clearly tell from Seamus’s expression that he’s uncomfortable.

            He’s the son of the mayor, and frequently does his best to appear pleasant in every situation. _What’s going on with him?_

            Corff is behind the bar only a stool away from Saemus, and I pass Corff the tray and ask for refills, tugging at the collar of my sweater—the Hanged Man is too hot with so many people stuffed inside.

            “Are you or are you not sympathizing with the Qun’s stance on Kirkwall’s policies? Are you standing against your father in this?” The voice comes from my right—the woman with the short blonde hair.

            “Petrice, I’m not in a place right now to be giving an interview. You know I respect the Chantry, but this is a precarious situation.” Saemus answers, barely audible over the noise of the Hanged Man. _The Chantry and the Qun—God, Saemus is definitely not in a good position._

            The Chantry and the Qun are rival media groups. Both who don’t like Saemus’s dad, both who have very intentional ideas about how politics should work, and both who hate the other.

            “I’ll give you one more chance to cooperate, Saemus.” The woman says coldly, and I turn my head sharply to look at them at the threat. “I can have an article blowing up social media tomorrow about your relationship with Ashaad if I choose.”

            I bristle at that, stomping two steps between them as Saemus starts to say, “You have no evidence of my personal—”

            “Saemus!” I squawk, trying to repress the desire to kick the Chantry reporter in the shin. “It’s been so long. How are you?”

            Saemus blinks in surprise as the reporter—Petrice—makes a frustrated noise from behind me.

            “Marie?” He asks, his eyes flicking to Petrice and then back to me. “It’s great to see you! I’ve been well, thank you. How are your studies going?” He sounds a little strained, probably unsure of where I popped in from.

            “I’m sorry, was it not clear that you were interrupting a conversation?” Petrice taps on my shoulder, moving so she can stand over me.

            I feel my face flush in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “Um. No. Not at all. Sorry.” _Actually, I’m not really sorry at all._

            Petrice gives a tight smile. “Could you please give Saemus and I a moment, then?”

            _Oh God, what now?_

“Don’t mind me!” I blurt quickly. “I can totally buy drinks as an apology. Beer?”

            Saemus stands from his barstool, now taller than me and Petrice. “Actually, Petrice and I were just finishing our conversation,” he tells me calmly. “I’d love to have a chance to catch up with you, Marie.”

            Petrice is glowering at us as Corff returns the tray, and I grab it—only to nearly drop it with the new weight. Saemus has to grab onto a corner before I steady it. “Sounds great. You know Isabela, right? I’m with some friends in the back—do you want to join us?”

            “Yes, thank you.” Saemus says, and I don’t miss the relief in his voice. “Good night, Petrice.” Saemus adds, not even unkindly, as we walk away. _He’s too nice to people, sometimes._

            Once we’ve squeezed through enough people to be out of earshot, I ask, “Have there been reporters pestering you for interviews recently?”

            “Far too many,” Saemus answers seriously.

            “Well, you don’t have to worry about it for the rest of the night. I’m sure my friends will scare anyone off who gets too close,” I assure him with a smile.

            _Poor guy looks like he’s exhausted._ His bright blue eyes are downcast, his eyebrows pulling together in concern.

            I stop moving before we get to the table. “She can’t really release an article about you and Ashaad, right?”

            I’ve met Saemus’s boyfriend a few times—the massive guy didn’t really talk much. But for some reason he and Saemus seem to really click. Ashaad works for the Qun, though—which I’m sure would cause all sorts of controversy since Saemus works in his dad’s office and the Qun pretty much hates the Kirkwall government.

            “She could.” Saemus sighs, but he then attempts to brighten his expression. “But enough about my problems, Marie. You should tell me about your classes this semester.”

            “You know how our major is,” I roll my eyes as we make it to the table. “I’m drowning in readings and essays already. Saemus, you know Isabela. This is Aveline, Donnic, Varric, Sebastian, and Fenris.”

            They all look up from their various conversations. “Good to meet you, Saemus.” Aveline says. She doesn’t make it obvious, but I know that she has to recognize him as the mayor’s son. She’s probably been at enough police events and gatherings with his family involved.

            I give Saemus my seat next to Isabela and Fenris inches over so I can sit next to him, though there’s not a lot of room and I end up under his arm. _Not a bad way to be squished in._

            Fenris and Saemus seem to get along immediately, and the three of us talk until open mic begins—a warbled version of some Katy Perry song.

            Isabela tries to harass Aveline into singing, which Aveline adamantly refuses.

            We stand up to leave after someone finishes a rendition of that song from _Titanic._ On our way out, I hear Varric ask Fenris, “Have you considered my offer, Broody?”

            I can see Fenris stiffen from the corner of my eye. “I have.”

            “And?”

            “I’m not sure if anything will be up to decent standards, Varric,” Fenris answers, so quiet I can barely hear. “I’m very out of practice.”

            We make it outside, and Varric says, “Just send over what you have in the next week or so. We can make final adjustments later.”

            Fenris nods, the movement tight. Varric pats his arm as everyone waves goodnight to each other, and Saemus and I make plans to meet up next week to actually catch up in a place where we don’t need to yell across the table to be heard.

            I take the bus with Fenris, and we sit together toward the back, my cheek resting on his shoulder. The only other riders are at the front, a girl with earbuds in and another couple talking quietly. _Another couple? I guess Fenris and I are a couple. Is he my boyfriend? Would it be strange to call him my boyfriend?_

I pull myself out of the relationship-oriented thoughts to ask, “Are you working with Varric on something?”

            Fenris puts his chin on the top of my head. “He asked me on Christmas to draft cover art for his newest book.”

            “What?” I jerk upright. “Fenris, that’s amazing!”

            The corners of his lips pull down. “He’s only ever heard Isabela and I talk about art before—I don’t want him to give me this chance out of charity.”

            “Varric’s far too invested in his books for that. You know he has a good sense of things—always has. He must have gotten a good vibe from you. Or whatever it is that business-y people get. Instincts, I guess.”

            “If he has good insticts, I’m not sure what he’ll think. I haven’t tried even sketching anything in years.” Fenris blinks, frowning deeply. “I’ll be out of practice.”

            “Do you miss it making art at all, though?” I ask, shifting in the seat so I can meet his eyes easily. “You don’t even have to make the sketches for Varric—what about yourself?”

            Fenris’s mouth presses into a thin line. “I’m not sure.” He says after a moment.

            I bite my lip for a moment before explaining, “When my dad was diagnosed with MS, it was because he’d lost feeling in his hands. He had such a hard time painting after that, and he told me once that an artist not being able to do his work was like having only half of his heart working. You definitely don’t have to make the cover art for Varric. But maybe you could try art again. For yourself. Not for anyone else.” I feel a painful twinge in my stomach thinking about what Fenris said. “ _Everything I painted wasn’t good enough. I could never pay him back.”_ I’d probably be worried about starting art again if that was my last experience with it.

            “Obviously you don’t have to at all,” I follow up quickly. “I mean, that’s always the case with everything I say. I just didn’t know if you felt that way, too. Like you were missing something without being able to make art. But if you don’t feel that way, then you can totally disregard—”

            Fenris snorts as he relaxes in the seat. “I know, Hawke.”

            “Oh. Good.” _And God am I glad he can understand my ramblings._ I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and yawn as Fenris leans over to gently kiss my cheek.

            “Thank you,” he says quietly.

            “Hm?”

            He doesn’t answer directly, instead gently tilting his face to press his lips against mine. He kisses me slowly, and I almost forget we’re on the bus until we screech to a standstill at my stop.

            I pull back with a pout. “Was the driver speeding or something?”

            Fenris chuckles. “Time just moves too quickly when I’m with you.”

            My heart pathetically skips a beat. _Maybe two._

            “Do you want tea?” I blurt as I stand. “Merrill would probably love to say hello to you, too.” _Really, Hawke? That was the worst excuse ever._

But Fenris just gives me one of those incredibly rare grins as he stands. _How is he so hot?_ “Is this your way of inviting me back to your apartment?”

            “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” I answer quickly.

            Fenris takes my hand, still smirking as we head down the bus aisle and out into the late January weather.

            “I work the morning shift tomorrow, so I probably can’t stay for long.” Fenris tells me as we shuffle down the street. Well, I shuffle and Fenris walks gracefully.

            “But you couldn’t turn down the thought of seeing Merrill for a bit, right?” I ask innocently.

            He laughs, the raw sound making me beam at him. “Of course.”


	14. Carver Doesn't Like Crying

            “I swear, sometimes I think Meredith cuts funding just to spite Professor Orsino,” I complain after I finish angrily swallowing a chicken nugget.

            Saemus and I met at the little diner that’s near campus once I got off of work, and I’m very into complaining at the moment.

            “I’d hope not,” Saemus answers with raised eyebrows.

            “You’d _hope_.” I say with a sigh. “Maybe I should’ve gone with a different advisor for my thesis.”

            Saemus gives me a sympathetic smile before asking, “What exactly are you researching, Marie?”

            I pop another piece of chicken into my mouth and pull the massive piles of papers barely clinging together via a tiny paperclip from my bag. “The initial thought was to look at the success of third party intervention at micro and macro levels,” I say after I finish chewing. I may be ravenous, but at least I have better table manners than Carver.

            “Which case studies did you choose?” Saemus seems legitimately interested in my thesis, which makes me love him more.

            “That’s the problem. I was first doing multiple case studies for mediation between couples going through divorces, then cases with gangs and other instances of community and group violence, more intermediate-ish in size, then cases regarding international interventions. But I had, like, fifty sources since I had to compare at each level.” I eat another chicken nugget, drowning it in the little pack of catsup first.

            It’s probably a little gross, but fortunately Saemus is leafing through all my case studies. “Fascinating,” he says. It would probably come across as sarcastic from anyone else (other than Merrill), but Saemus looks up from the papers with a smile. “Marie, this is such a great topic.”

            “A stupid one to choose, though. I think I’m going to be lost in a mass of papers and Merrill will have dig me out from my room.” I accept the papers back from him.

            “How has she been?” Saemus leans forward to drink some of his milkshake.

            “Good. She’s been… Merrill.” I’m not sure there’s any other way to explain it.

            Saemus laughs at that. “And what about the man you were with last Friday? Fenris?”

            “He’s my—” I cut myself off quickly. _Boyfriend? Partner? Person I’m currently seeing?_ “We’re seeing each other. Exclusively. At least, I think it’s exclusively. Kind of dating? Maybe? I guess we’re dating. I mean, I’m not even sure that’s what I would call it.” I cringe, about to cover my eyes with my hand before I realize it’s covered in chicken grease and go for a napkin instead.

            Saemus just smiles. “You seem to suit each other well.”

            I grin embarrassingly widely. “Yeah?”

            He nods, finishing up his shake. “I think so.”

            I try to tamp down on the way my face probably resembles the Cheshire Cat, wiping my hands (and then taking another napkin because of how much grease I managed to accumulate). “How are you and Ashaad doing?”

            Something flickers in his eyes for a moment—he’s worried? “There’s been… a lot of pressure from my father and The Chantry recently. You saw some of it at the Hanged Man on Friday.”

            “Because he works for the Qun? You have every right to date whoever the hell you want, Saemus,” I say defensively. _The Qun’s a little… militant. But that’s beside the point._

“Because I believe that the Qun has valid points. And that my father has ignored them for too long.” Saemus answers quietly.

            _Oh._ I try not to let my mouth drop open and instead opt to grab at my little plastic cup of water and finish it off. _What even is that? The son of the mayor sympathizing with the Qun? Yeah, that’s going to be bad._ “And have you told your dad about that?

            Saemus nods, his eyebrows pulling together. “He doesn’t listen. It doesn’t help he has The Chantry watching his every move. With reelections coming up, he’s worried about losing support—you know the damage The Chantry can do with reputations in Kirkwall.”

            “Or anywhere,” I mumble, frowning. “Just be careful, Seamus. Even outside of the whole ‘my dad’s the mayor’ thing, The Chantry seems like they want to make your life miserable.” That woman at the Hanged Man was a prime example.

            Saemus leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his palms over his face. “I know,” he says, his voice betraying a small waver.

            I reach around my empty basket of chicken nuggets to gently squeeze his forearm. “Hey, if you ever need me to come interrupt interviews with lame excuses, I can do that.” I give him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “Really. More than Chantry or Qun or reelections—you should be able to go out for drinks without being pestered by reporters. And not have jerks make threats to ruin your private life.”

            He returns the smile, though his face his still drawn. “Thank you, Marie.”

            “Seriously. Text me wherever you are, and I’ll show up prepared to fight off reporters armed only with my winning personality.” I wink at him, and he chuckles.

            “You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

            I flip my hair dramatically. “Champion of Kirkwall, or something like that.”

            He laughs again, his expression finally relaxing. I let go of his arm only to see the time on his watch, which is peering out at the edge of his jacket sleeve.

            “Oh, shoot—Saemus, I have to run. Varric’s doing a book signing. Do you want to come?” I grab my purse from where I slung it over the back of the chair, gathering up greasy napkins and trash.

            “I have work in half an hour, but wish Varric the best from me. Is it a new release?” Saemus says. He seems to have taken to Varric after last Friday.

            I fasten the belt of my coat as Saemus stands and we walk out together. “No, it’s his book he put out last year. But he’s about to publish a new installment in the series, so I think he’s revamping.”

            “I’m sure it will be successful,” Saemus tells me.

            “It’s Varric. He could write absolute garbage and I think people would still buy it.” I roll my eyes. “But he’s released only pretty great stuff so far.” I lean forward to give Saemus a tight hug after we’re out the door. “Take care of yourself, Saemus.”

            “You too, Marie.” Saemus says kindly.

            I release him and wave before hurrying to the bus stop, the wind blowing miserably as usual.

            The bus comes mercifully quickly, and I hop on board. It’s more crowded than usual for a gray afternoon, and I find the only completely empty seat.

            My phone buzzes, and it’s a picture of Isabela and Zevran, holding up a copy of Varric’s book with his signature—and a giant moustache drawn on his picture in the back. They’re grinning mischievously, and I snort to myself.

            The lady in front of me looks back with a disgruntled expression.

            I quickly duck my head, and text back:

 

            _Now we don’t have to wonder what Varric would look like with facial hair._

Zevran:

 

            _It does appear a little strange, does it not?_

Isablea:

 

            _cuz any of the hair varric could have on his face is on his chest_

I try not to laugh and end up making some terrible choking noise. Grumpy lady glares at me over her shoulder again and I sink down into my seat.

            When the bus reaches the stop outside _Cousland’s_ , I practically run past the seat in front of me to avoid another nasty look. The wind has died down a little bit, or at least is at a lull, when I step off the bus.

            I only make it a few steps, walking by the café windows, when I hear, “Hawke?”

            _No._

            My heart drops to the pit of my stomach, my chest tightening as my breath stops, caught somewhere in my lungs.

            _It can’t be._

            He’s in front of me, blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, hands stuffed into the pockets of a red sweatshirt.

            _Run. Run for it. Run. Move, damn it!_

Instead, I stand still and my mouth opens, no sound coming out.

            He’s alone. _Justice isn’t here._

            Suddenly my lungs expand again and I gasp a little bit as my stomach flops. “Anders.”

            He doesn’t move forward, standing about an arm’s stretch away. “I—” He cuts himself off, the soft brown of his eyes boring into mine.

            “How have you been?” I say the words, but I’m not really sure where they come from.

            Anders gives a short exhale of frustration, his hand moving to rub the stubble on the side of his face. It’s so _familiar_ , and it hurts to watch. “Can we talk?”

            _No. I don’t want to talk._ “I’m going in for Varric’s book signing,” I say quickly, the option to run presenting itself. And hell, I’m going to take it. I force my feet to move, taking a step forward, then another.

            A hand reaches out to grab my wrist and I flinch back.

            When I look at Anders with eyes still half-squeezed shut, his hand is still extended, shock written across his face. It morphs into hurt as his hand falls to his side. “Shit. Hawke, I’m—I’m sorry.”

            My throat tightens. _Why couldn’t he have said that before he left?_ I nod, unable to find words. “Book signing,” I point toward the window of _Cousland’s_ , where people are milling around on the other side of the glass. “I need to go inside.”

            “Hawke, please.” His voice is quiet, and his eyes are so _soft._ And I know how they look right before they look before he leans in for a kiss, and how they look when he laughs, and how they look when he’s squinting at a book, and how they look right after he rubs them with exhaustion, and how they look when we wake up together. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t change what I did, but I should’ve apologized a long time ago. I should’ve done everything I could to make things right.”

            _Make things right. How can you make things right after what happened?_ The thoughts remain bouncing inside of my head, screaming to be let out, but I just nod again.

            “I couldn’t… when I realized what happened, I couldn’t imagine asking you to forgive me. Justice—I messed up, Hawke.”

            My voice cracks as I ask, “He’s in Kirkwall too, Anders. Why are you still with him?”

            Anders shakes his head. “I don’t know. It was something I could never explain to you before, and I can’t now.”

            “He’s only hurting you,” I say thickly. _And why do I care? Don’t care about it, Marie. Don’t you dare._

            “And he hurt the person I cared about most. He hurt _you_ , Hawke. And I’m sorry.” It’s his turn now for his voice to break, and a man passes us by, reminding me that we’re still standing out on the sidewalk outside of _Coulsand’s._

I take a shaking breath, and it rattles my chest. “It doesn’t matter.”

            Anders drops his eyes to the concrete beneath our feet. “I know. I can’t make excuses for myself.”

            _You let him hurt me. You hurt me, Anders._ Part of me wants excuses. I want him to explain why he didn’t stop Justice. _Please tell me._

            “If I could go back, Hawke, I would change everything. But after you left, I only had Justice and the causes we stood for.”

            “After I left?” I can’t control the way my breath comes in short bursts. “You left me, Anders. You let Justice turn me into a personal punching bag and then you left.” _Left for your causes, for your best friend who’s killing you slowly._

            His eyes are _tortured._ I think I’m drowning in them. “I drank too much and didn’t know what was going on—I wasn’t _me_ , Hawke. I would never have hurt you—”

            “But you did.” A cloud of exhaust and a screeching of brakes tells me that a bus is back at the stop, and I turn in a blur and walk back to the only thing that can help me now.

            He doesn’t stop me.

            I climb back on in a gray haze, standing in the aisle and reaching weakly for a rail on the side when the still functioning part of my brain recognizes that there aren’t empty seats.

            Every time the bus stops, I stumble, let people push by me as they get off. I want to scream. It’s clawing at the back of my throat, and I can’t seem to swallow it down.

 

_“You’re joking.”_

_I roll over to my stomach, giving the book to Anders as our arms brush. His sheets are tangled around my waist, and I squirm a bit as he looks at the page I was just snorting at._

_He glances up from the book at me in amusement, reclining on the pillows. “Varric definitely based this on Aveline and Donnic. There’s no other explanation.”_

_I wiggle my eyebrows at him. “How long do you think it’ll take before Aveline reads it and threatens to kill Varric?”_

_Anders scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Since the book was just released today… tomorrow evening?”_

_“You think Aveline will read it that quickly?”_

_“She’s a bigger fan of Varric than she’d let on,” Anders answers conspiratorially._

_I yawn, shuffling my elbows around on the bed so I can get closer to Anders, snuggling against him. “True. It’s impossible not to be Varric’s fan.”_

_Anders laughs, reaching to put an arm around me and pulling me close, so I’m lying on his chest. “Obviously you’re not entranced enough with the book for it to keep you awake.”_

_“Maybe it’s because you’re distracting me,” I mumble into his skin, only to yawn again._

_“Maybe because you need to go to sleep?” Anders asks, leaning to kiss my hair. He lowers his voice to a ridiculous bass, “As much as I’d love to believe I’m a seductress extraordinaire—”_

_“Oh, shut up.” I giggle, rolling away from him._

_He follows my movement, lunging over to pin me underneath him. “What? I’m not seductive? You know, I took a belly dancing class once.”_

_“You did not!”_

_“I did. But I think I would place it in a comedy show instead of in the ‘things I can use to seduce my beautiful girlfriend’ category.” Anders flashes a wide grin at me._

_“You’re resorting to flattery now?” I give him my best disapproving look. “It won’t work. You should know I only accept marigolds. Gold plated, that is.”_

_He’s laughing as he leans down to capture my mouth, cutting off any more snide remarks I may try to make, and I reach up to pull his hair out of his ponytail, tangling my fingers through the strands before I suddenly turn my face away._

_Anders brings his head back in alarm. “Okay?”_

_“Did you **really** take a belly dancing class?”_

_“Really.” He says seriously._

_“What about tap? Ballet?”_

_“Unfortunately not.”_

_“Hm.” I pretend to mull it all over, leaving Anders propped on his forearms above me. “Consider me seduced.” I smirk, pushing him over and leaning down to kiss him again._

 

            Something tells me it’s time to get off the bus, and I walk without thinking. Numb feet, numb thoughts, and find myself in front of the door to my family’s house.

            I knock, barely able to get air through the knot in my throat.

            The door opens, Carver appearing with mussed hair and a frown. “What’re you doing here?”

            “Is Mom or Bethany home?” I ask, the words coming out garbled.

            Carver’s frown deepens. “They left yesterday for the Japanese embassy to get Bethany’s visa?”

            “Right.” I say, but my eyes are completely filled with tears and I can feel my face scrunch up. The first, very loud sob comes first. Followed by another, and another.

            “Sis?” Carver’s voice is alarmed.

            “C-can I c-come inside?” I manage to get out, hiccupping and wiping at a now runny nose.

            I can see Carver move from blurry eyes, and step inside, hearing the door close behind me. I turn, smacking my forehead into Carver’s chest and feeling how much I’m shaking against him.

            “What the hell happened?” Carver grunts at me, but he doesn’t make me move as I cry into his shirt.

            I shake my head, trying to tamp down on the tears and let out a whimper instead.

            A hand starts patting the back of my head awkwardly, and I forget trying to be quiet and scream through clenched teeth.

            There’s a roar of thoughts, but I can’t make any sense of them, and it seems all I can do is choke and cry.

            And cry.

            _But you did._

_Sorry doesn’t fix anything._

_I loved you._

_But you did._

Somehow Carver manages to move us to the couch, where I sit with a cup of hot chocolate in my hands and no idea as to how it got there. My phone’s buzzing obnoxiously, but Carver and I ignore it.

            I think I’ve been crying a lot.

            _For how long?_

I’m not sure. But there aren’t any tears left now. Instead a hollow ache replaced them.

            Carver clears his throat. “So…”

            “I saw Anders again.”

            His head jerks up at that, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “What? That bastard—”

            “He apologized.” I say quietly, gripping the mug, ignoring the way the heat’s stinging my hands.

            “Doesn’t matter,” Carver scowls. “I’d like to see _his_ face again.” He looks at me sharply. “Did you punch him?”

            I let out a short breath. A ghost of a laugh. “No. I didn’t even think about it. I just kind of… panicked.”

            Carver grunts. “You should’ve punched him.”

            “Yeah?” I stare into the hot chocolate. “I didn’t even ask everything I wanted to. I didn’t yell. I think I should’ve yelled.”

            Carver’s staring at me when I look up again. “You should have. Why is it every time Bethany or I got hurt as kids, you were the first one to come running to help us, to chase off that rabid dog, or hit some dickhead who was yelling at Bethany—but whenever something happened to you, you just _let it_?”

            I blink slowly, raising a hand to wipe at the residual tears on my face. “I… don’t know.”

            “It’s stupid.” Carver tells me.

            “Yeah, I guess it is. It’s always easier to stand up for someone else.” I murmur.

            “But it’s stupid.” Carver reinforces.

            I sniff and glare at him. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

            “Next times someone hits you, _hit back_.” Carver leans forward, looking very serious.

            “Well hopefully I don’t need to hit anyone—”

            “I mean it. I know you’ve always looked out for us. And I never needed it,” Carver adds quickly, and a little bit sullenly. “But you should’ve looked out for yourself, too.”

            I sniff again. “Yeah.” We sit in silence for a little bit before I ask, “Carver, do you want to go to a self-defense class with me?”

            Carver blinks at me. “I… guess?”

            My mouth pulls up without much effort, and my phone buzzes again.

            “You should probably get that. It’s been going off for the last hour.”

            So I definitely cried for a very long time. Great.

            After I put down my hot chocolate, I rub my eyes with one hand and reach for my phone with another, only to find four missed calls from Isabela, two from Fenris, three texts from Fenris, two from Sebastian, one from Merrill, two texts from Isabela, and one from Zevran. They’re not, however, from the group text.

            “Oh my God,” I unlock my phone and start scrolling through my messages. Isabela’s first was warning me that Anders was at the book signing, and the next:

 

            _you already saw him didn’t you_

Fenris’s text is along the same lines, asking where I was and if I had seen Anders. Then the missed calls, and the texts from everyone else. As I’m reading them and listening to Isabela’s short, concerned voicemails, I get a text from Aveline.

            “Oh my God,” I repeat again. I bury my face in my knees. “I don’t want to answer everyone right now.”

            “Isabela called Bethany,” Carver mumbles from next to me. “And now Bethany is texting me in a full freak-out. Congratulations, Sis, you managed to set the Hawke network on fire.”

            I groan. “Can I just tell everyone to leave me alone until I don’t feel like all the water in my body leaked out of my eyes?”

            Carver looks at me with distaste.

            “What?”

            He shakes his head. “I’ll tell Bethany you’re with me.”

            “Okay.” I sniff again, letting the tired sink in. “Carver?”

            “What.”

            “Can I stay here for the night?”

            Carver raises his eyebrows. “It’s still your house too, isn’t it?”

            I can feel my face scrunching again. “I love you, Carver.”

            Carver grunts, though he looks concerned that I might start the waterworks again. “Uh. Love you too.”

            I elbow him, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “Should’ve recorded that.”

            He grumbles to himself as he stands, only to return a few minutes later to throw a blanket at me.

            I burrito myself after I send everyone an ‘I’m fine’ text individually, and then toss my phone on the rug and curl up.

            Some things require sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter lacks Fenris and fluff, but it's been planned since the first inklings of this fic were in my head. At least Carver got to do something other than sulk, because I secretly (maybe not so secretly) love his character in the game and thought he should have his moment of being the (deep down) good brother he is.  
> At any rate, happy Friday, thank you for reading, and please leave any feedback you have. :)


	15. Everyone Worries Because I'm an Idiot

            “Sis. Sis. Damn it, Marie, wake up!”

            I groan loudly, pushing away the hands that are shaking my shoulders. “Shuddup. M’sleeping.”

            “Isabela and Merrill just pulled up in the driveway.”

            “Wha?”

            I open my eyes, only to whine at the way my contacts drag along the insides of my eyelids.

            Carver’s standing over me, his face caught somewhere between annoyance and guilt. “Um. Merrill wanted to know where you were. And she… asked if she and Isabela could come over.”

            “What?” I repeat, sitting up on the couch and trying to blink my contacts back to a less painful state. “Shit.”

            “Merrill was very persuasive,” Carver gripes defensively as the doorbell rings.

            I rub the back of my hand across my face. “Just shuddup for a sec. Don’t you dare get the door.” My words are still slurred. “Why in God’s name are Isabela and Merrill here?”

            “Merrill said that—she asked if—she wanted to check on you.” Carver makes a terrible attempt to defend himself, still trying to look grumpy despite the way his eyes are darting to the entry hall.

            “What time is it?” I complain, flopping over and trying to reach for my phone as Carver shuffles out of the living room.

            Seven unread messages. Though when the door creaks open, there’s a very distinct, “Where is she? I’m going to murder her. I’m going to personally wring her neck.”

            I freeze only for a moment at Isabela’s voice before I dive back under the blankets, pulling the fuzzy fabric over my head.

            Fluffy starts barking from somewhere further back in the house—probably Carver’s room.

            “Oh, hello Carver! It’s so lovely to see you.”

            “Uh. Yeah. I mean—great to see you, too. Merrill. Um.”

            “Where the hell is she, Carver?”

            I’m practically cowering under the blankets and mentally threatening Carver not to sell me out.

            “In the living room.”

            _Damn it, Carver. I’m disowning you._

It takes only four seconds—I’m counting—before the blanket is ripped off of me.

            Isabela is _terrifying._ She glowers at me with absolute fury before she reaches out and smacks my rear.

            I’m about to complain, or protest, or maybe beg for her forgiveness, but she just sinks to the floor next to me. “Sometimes I hate you, Hawke. You make me feel these terrible things like ‘concern for another human being’. It’s awful.”

            My face is still squished against the couch cushion, so I sit up slowly. “I’m sorry if I made you worried,” I say with a cringe.

            Isabela looks at me sharply. “ _If_ you made me worried? Hawke, you have no idea the insanity that happened at _Cousland’s_ when Anders showed up and you were nowhere to be found. You didn’t answer any of us for over an hour.”

            “Sorry,” I repeat sheepishly.

            “Are you alright?” Her voice softens, and I can hear Merrill chattering away at Carver still in the entryway.

            I nod, sliding off the couch to sit next to her on the carpet. I pull the blanket over our legs. “I’m a-okay. Really,” I add when she gives me the _look_. “It was just hard. I’ve probably thought about seeing him again a thousand times, but when he was there—standing in front of me and I could remember all of our time together—my mind went blank.”

            Isabela snakes an arm around my waist and I lean on her shoulder, seemingly forgiven. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            I smile slightly. With Isabela, it’s usually, _Give me all the details_ or _Spit it out before I make you._ “Maybe after I figure everything out. I think I never really got over us. Anders and I, I mean.”

            Isabela jostles her shoulder. “I could’ve told you that, Kitten.”

            “Probably. You’re smart like that.”

            She gasps in mock shock. “Is this Marie Hawke telling me I’m smart? That’s got to be a first.”

            “Well you _are_. I mean, I’m completely aware that you flunked out of school, but that’s because you didn’t care enough about it. You’re brilliant when you want to be.” I inform her seriously.

            She plants a kiss on my cheek. “Oh, continue to flatter me. I like this. Can you talk about my ass next?”

            “You have a very nice ass,” I try to roll my eyes, but I’m giggling instead. “And your boobs make a great pillow.”

            Isabela grins widely at me. “One of their many uses.”

            I burst out laughing. “My favorite of their many uses, then.”

            Isabela gives my waist a squeeze before she retracts her arm. “Right, now that I know you’re not skulking around and crying buckets—”

            “Took that off my to-do list last night.”

            “Glad I missed it, then.” Isabela tweaks my nose and I bat her fingers away. “Did you really not call Fenris at any point last night?”

            I scratch the back of my head. “No. I just kind of… fell asleep after I told everyone I was fine.”

            Isabela puffs out her cheeks and exhales slowly. “Well, here’s the good news. Your boyfriend is crazy about you. The bad news—he’s so crazy about you he punched Anders in the face and then proceeded to get himself beat on.”

            My jaw drops. “What? Oh my God. Is Fenris okay? What happened? Why did he freaking hit Anders?”

            Isabela holds up fingers progressively as she says,”Fenris is fine other than a few bruises and a nasty scratch across his cheek. What happened is after you didn’t show up and no one could get a hold of you, Fenris marched up to Anders and asked what he did, and if he hurt you. Anders, who obviously had no idea who Fenris was, got pissy. Anders said something about how his relationship with you is none of Fenris’s business. So Fenris hit him. And then Nate, who had no idea what was going on, tried to drag Fenris away. By that time, Anders was hitting back and they were brawling. It would’ve been exciting if not for extenuating circumstances.” Isabela shakes her head.

            “What. The. Hell.”

            “Oh, but then while Fenris is snarling and acting like he’s about to punch a hole through Anders, he accidentally hits Nate. And Nate hit back—he had a ring on, and it broke open Fenris’s skin. By then we were able to pull them all apart,” Isabela finishes the story as Merrill and Carver finally come into the room.

            I bury my face in my hands. “Shit.”

            “Shit.” Isabela agrees. “Aveline was there, and let me tell you Kitten, she’s not happy with Fenris and Anders at the moment.”

            “At least someone hit the bastard,” Carver mutters. “Tell Fenris I say ‘thanks’ when you see him next.”

            I stand quickly. “Which should be going to do now. I can’t believe—well, I can’t imagine that happening.” I look at Isabela as I bite my lip. “It’s all my fault. Did Fenris take more than a few hits? Does he need—”

            “He’s a good fighter. I’d bet he has bruises in addition to a scar across his pretty cheek, but he’s not coughing blood or anything that dramatic,” Isabela assures me. She stretches like a cat. “It’s not your fault either, Hawke.” She pauses. “Are you going to run to him and have some passionate make-up sex for not contacting him?”

            I glare at Isabela as I pull my hair back into a little nub of a ponytail at the base of my neck.

            Carver’s glaring too. “Not something I want to think about.”

            Merrill just claps her hands. “That would be so romantic!”

            “You’re all impossible.” I gripe as I grab my phone and text Fenris.

 

            _Hey- Isabela told me what happened. Are you at home?_

I leave Merrill and Isabela debating whether or not make-up sex is romantic or hot, and Carver stomps off to the kitchen to make coffee.

            The bathroom has a spare toothbrush in a lower drawer, and I quickly brush my teeth and wash my face. My contacts don’t hurt as much anymore, and I yell that I’m going to borrow a shirt from Carver before I go into his room.

            It’s a disaster inside. Clothes are strewn across the floor, and I’m not sure what’s dirty or clean as I make it to his dresser, which has a thick layer of dust on top.

            Carver and I may not have a lot in common, but we’re both slobs.

            I find a Kirkwall University sweatshirt and ditch my sweater for it. I change quickly before heading back out into the living area. Merrill’s in the kitchen with a giant mixing bowl, telling Carver about how to make scones.

            Isabela is sitting on the counter on her phone.

            Which reminds me—

            I pull out my phone to see that Fenris hasn’t answered.

            “Isabela, have you heard anything from Fenris?” I ask.

            Isabela shakes her head. “He went with us to your apartment last night—none of us knew where you were until this morning. I texted Fenris, but he didn’t answer.”

            “Do you think he’s alright?”

            Isabela shrugs. “The brooding mass is often a mystery to me.”

            Merrill turns from the counter, cradling the mixing bowl. “He doesn’t make much sense at all.”

            I frown. “I’m going to check if he’s in his apartment. If it’s crossing the lines of privacy then I can go afterwards, right away, but if he’s actually hurt more than you thought, I don’t want to just not do anything. That’s really an invasion of privacy, though. Isn’t it? Showing up unannounced?”

            “Just go, Hawke.” Isabela shoos me impatiently.

            Carver’s staring at Merrill as she says, “Yes, go on, Hawke!”

            “Okay. Okay.” I say, more to myself than to them. I pull on my boots and leave, still checking my phone for any signs that Fenris is still in one piece.

            The air is frigid, and it’s barely eight as I wait at the bus stop and shiver, continuously staring at the screen of my phone.

            Even on the bus, I try calling Fenris, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

            _Oh God, Oh God. I hope he’s okay. I hope he’s okay. This is all my fault._

I text Varric and Aveline, asking if they’ve heard from him.

            That was a bad decision.

            Aveline:

 

            _Are you seriously asking about Fenris right now?! Where have you been, Hawke?_

Varric:

 

            _Where Broody is? Where are you, Hawke? You gave everyone a scare last night. You holding up okay?_

I cringe as I type out apologies and explanations that I stayed with Carver in the house, but get no answers about Fenris.

            I almost trip in my hurry to get off the bus, and then half-jog down the streets. At least Carver’s giant sweatshirt is warm.

            It takes me a few moments to catch my breath outside of Fenris’s door.

            _Is this bad to do? I’ve never just shown up at his apartment before? Is this really rude?_

I wince as I stand in the cold, and try calling him again, though it’s still going straight to voicemail.

            Worry wins out in less than a minute, and I knock on his door.

            No answer.

            I knock again, louder this time. “Fenris? Are you there? It’s me.”

            No answer. I think I hear something crash to the ground inside.

            “Fenris? Are you alright? I promise I’ll leave, I know this probably wasn’t the best idea. I was just really worried, and I heard what happened. And if you were hurt because of that—” I wince again. “Fenris, I don’t want you getting hurt because of me. The first time was bad enough. Please just let me know that you’re okay and I’ll—”

            The door opens.

            His snowy hair is mussed, he has a cut sweeping over his left cheekbone, and a bruise forming on his chin. There are dark circles under his pale green eyes—eyes that are roaming over my face, mimicking what I’m doing to him.

            “Fenris, I—”

            He steps forward and pulls me into his arms.

            I gasp.

            Whatever I was expecting (maybe a reprimand for showing up at his house, maybe anger at not calling him yesterday, maybe something worse) wasn’t this.

            “Hawke,” he breathes my name.

            The cold vanishes around me though we’re standing on the concrete in front of his door. I clasp my hands behind his back, burying my nose in his shirt and letting out a breath of relief.

            He’s pressing his lips to my hair, again and again. Warmth radiates from his body, and I close my eyes at the sensation.

            “Are you hurt?” His voice is low, a barely audible rasp above my head.

            “No. No, I’m okay.”

            He pulls away, and an embarrassing noise of complaint escapes my throat at the loss of my personal sun. His hands come up to my face, sweeping over my cheeks.

            “I’m sorry about last night,” I say quickly.

            He shakes his head. “I understand. You needed to run. If there’s anything I understand Hawke, it’s that.”

            The words _hurt_ , wringing my lungs _._ I hate that he knows the feeling even better than me, when he shouldn’t know it at all.

            I weave my fingers through his, pulling them down. “You, on the other hand, are definitely hurt,” I say softly. “And it was because of me again.”

            “It was not.” Fenris replies immediately, his lips turning down in the corners.

            The wind begins to pick up and I can’t suppress the shudder that runs down my spine.

            “Come inside?” He rubs a hand over his eyes, and I realize that I must’ve woken him up.

            I nod at the invitation, glad to be out of the cold as I close the door behind me. “Sorry to wake you up. I was just worried.”

            “I’m glad you’re here,” Fenris answers, still with obvious exhaustion. “Hawke, last night I thought—I could only think of what it would be like if I saw Dan—if I saw the man from my past. Are you truly alright?”

            My heart twists painfully. “I am. Really. He… he apologized.”

            Fenris’s hands are curled into fists, but his voice is quiet as he says, “And you accepted it?”

            I shake my head. “No. I couldn’t. If that makes me a bad person—”

            “It doesn’t.”

            We stand there, his kitchen to my left and his sofa behind me. “Thank you. For understanding.” I tell him honestly.

            He nods, something unreadable hidden in the green depths of his irises.

            “And what about you? Isabela told me what happened—and that cut on your cheek looks like it really hurts, Fenris.”

            “It’s just a scratch.”

            I wrinkle my nose at him. “’Tis but a scratch,” I say dramatically with my best British accent in an attempt to force the heaviness hanging over us away. “’Just a flesh wound.”

            Fenris stares at me. “Are you planning on cutting my arms of next?”

            I laugh, delighted that he’s seen _Monty Python_ as well. “Only if you really want me to.”

            “I’ll pass,” he says dryly.

            “Aw, but how can we bring in the special effects of squirting blood?” I set my purse down on the back of the couch, pilfering through with a small smile. I find the little disinfectant pad and hold it while I dig until I find a row of Band-Aids and a tiny tube of Neosporin.

            “I’m fine, Hawke,” Fenris complains as I start to open the disinfectant pad.

            “Yes, and your legs will go next,” I stand on my toes to kiss the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to be impressed I have the entirety of a first-aid kit in my purse.”

            Fenris huffs in restrained amusement. “I am unsurprised at the various things you keep in there. The first time we met, it was as if you had an entire collection of paper scraps in your wallet alone.”

            I make a face at him as I dab the pad across the cut on his cheek. It’s at least two inches long, and it’s clear that he didn’t clean it last night from the blood caked around the area. “That was embarrassing. Can we just forget that ever happened? At any rate, you have plenty other embarrassing encounters with me.”

            Fenris’s eyes are much softer now as I finish cleaning the cut, and I feel a flush creeping up my neck more at the gentleness of his expression than the mention of our mortifying first meeting. “It’s my favorite,” he rumbles back.

            “Is it?” The tips of my ears are probably red as I open a Band-Aid and squeeze Neosporin on it. “I guess it left an impression.”

            Fenris chuckles as I place the first Band-Aid and begin to apply another. “It was… new.”

            “What? You’ve never had someone embarrass herself that much before?”

            Fenris watches me with a tenderness that has my heart pounding and melting at the same time. “I laughed,” he says after time and silence stretches between us.   
“Something I hadn’t done in weeks.”

            The confession startles me as I finish smoothing the last Band-Aid over his cheek. I lean in to press a peck to his mouth. “And your laugh is one of my favorite things.”

            Now it’s his turn to be startled, and his blinks at me, seemingly at a loss of words.

            I run my fingers through his hair, soft strands beginning to lie flat. His eyelids droop, and I kiss the tattoos on his chin. “Did you not sleep much last night?”

            Fenris grumbles as my hands leave his hair. “No. This morning I was up for a while until I dozed off and you came by. My phone ran out of charge, because I was waiting—” He cuts himself off.

            I duck my head. “For me to get back to you? I really am sorry, Fenris. And I’m sorry that you were so worried. And that Anders and you somehow started fighting.”

            “ _That_ was not your fault.” Fenris growls.

            I look up at him, surprised at the fire dancing in his eyes. “Well, I don’t think you would’ve hit him if I had been there and hadn’t just disappeared—”

            “It was my decision. I admit I lost my temper, but… I couldn’t stand to look at him knowing that he hurt you.” His jaw is set stubbornly.

            I sigh. “Carver approves. I, on the other hand, would prefer if you didn’t hit anyone or get hit on my account. Or at all, actually. I’m a Peace-Studies major, you know. Can’t have my boyfriend getting into fights too—” I stop talking abruptly once I realize I let the ‘boyfriend’ slip. “Um. Person-I-Care-About-Very-Much?”

            Fenris’s lips quirk in amusement, his grim mood dissipating again. “Are they the same thing for you?”

            “Yes? I mean, only if that’s alright with you. I honestly don’t care what I call you, other than your name obviously. But I know that I care about you. A lot. So whatever that means, and it doesn’t have to be anything in particular—”

            Fenris smirks at me.

            “Don’t give me that look! I’m floundering here.” I groan, covering my eyes with my hands.

            He gently takes my wrists and pulls my arms down with a chuckle.

            I make a face of embarrassment as I slowly meet his gaze. He brushes back a piece of hair that was hanging in my eyes. “Whatever that means, Hawke, is that I am yours.”

            The words send a hum through my body, and I suck in a sharp breath as all embarrassment fades.

            This was from the man who had to run from someone who tried to _own him._

He was saying that he was mine.

            “And I’m yours.” I whisper.

            He lowers his head and suddenly his mouth is on mine with a heat I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.

            I lock my arms around his neck, and he grips my waist as I taste mint and faint coffee on his tongue as it sweeps across mine, dizzying and impossibly warm.

            My pulse is skyrocketing, and I can barely think coherently as Fenris moves his lips to my neck.

            I forget how to breathe as I tilt my head so he can have better access, now clutching the fabric of his sweater that sits snugly over his shoulders.

            When Fenris reaches my collarbone, he stops, and I realize that his chest is rising and falling just as rapidly as my own. “Is this alright?” He asks, his voice gravelly.

            “Yes. God, yes.” I can hear myself panting. “Is it alright if I—I know you don’t always like being touched—” _Why is it so hard for me to form sentences right now?_ “I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. Can I—”

            Something flashes across his face—surprise? Gratitude?

            But then he’s kissing me again, searing and sudden and my head spins. Is it possible to get drunk on people?

            “Yes,” he breathes raggedly.

            That’s all the damn invitation I need. I run my hands over his arm, his thin black sweater not at all hiding the wiry muscles. My skin his ghostly pale against the fabric, and I shift so I can skim my touch across the planes of his chest. The sweater obstructs too much, and Fenris seems to be thinking the same thing as he pulls off the offending clothing, and I have to take a step back for him to do so.

            It’s only after the sweater is on the floor that he stops moving.

            I’m staring.

            The white tattoos curl over his chest, over his stomach, disappearing down the waistline of his dark jeans. The things that marked him that weren’t his choice—the white ink in his skin that was the product of a man who tried to take everything from him.

            When I meet his eyes again, he’s guarded. The face he wears as an impassive mask to outsiders—the walls he puts up.

            I close the distance between us and press my mouth to one of the white tendrils on his chest. He shudders, and I trail my lips over them, tracing a path up, to his neck, to his chin.

            “Hawke.” He says my name again, but this time it’s broken.

            Straightening, I cup his face. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. I meant it before and I mean it now: I want to be with you. Your past doesn’t change that.”

            He leans in to rest his forehead against mine, and it feels like he’s breathing me in.

            When he kisses me again, it’s slower, and he’s holding me to him gently. I trace circles on his arms with the tips of my fingers, and he just presses me further into himself.

            My phone goes off.

            We both ignore it, and I continue to mold myself against him, loving the way his skin his warm even through the layer of my sweatshirt.

            I bump into the back of the sofa without realizing we had been moving, and Fenris lifts me so I’m perched on the ledge, kiss never breaking.

            The ringing finally stops.

            Only to start again.

            I pull away. “Freaking phone.” I mutter, face flushed and my heart hammering in my rib cage.

            “It might be important.” Fenris’s eyes are dark, his voice more rough than usual as he lets go of me.

            I reach my phone and see it’s Bethany. I answer with, “Hey Be—”

            “Marie!” She says shrilly into the phone. “How could you not bother to answer any of my texts this morning! Mom and I just got back, and Carver has absolutely no clue about what’s going on. What happened? Are you alright? Where are you?”

            I suppress a groan as I look at Fenris. “I’m fine, Bethany. I don’t know why Isabela was texting you last night—”

            “Because we were worried. Because everyone was worried!”

            Fenris, who can obviously hear, chuckles to himself as he grabs his sweater and pulls it back on. “I have work in half an hour,” he murmurs. “I can get there early an put in an order for a cinnamon latte for Bethany if a peace-offering is in order.”

            I can’t help but grin at Fenris as I tell Bethany, “How about we meet at _Cousland’s_?”

            “Fine.” Bethany says tightly. Then, quietly, “You’re really okay?”

            “Really, Beth.” I answer.

            “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

            “I’ll meet you there.” I end the call and shake my head. “You’d think the world ended last night.”

            Fenris gives me an exasperated look as he pulls on his jacket from where it was lying on the coffee table. “You have many people who worry for you.”

            “Yeah.” I agree, fixing my hair as some of it had fallen loose. “But now I have an angry sister waiting out there for the correct moment to pounce and lecture.”

            Fenris snorts as he grabs his keys and puts them into his messenger bag. “An accurate description.”

            “It’s a Hawke thing. We tend to care too much.”

            “Of that I have no doubt.” Fenris answers, slipping his hand into mine.

            It’s a very different kind of feeling from the kisses like fire and the heat from his skin, but I run my thumb over his knuckles as we step outside and find that I’m smiling happily.

            Having Fenris next to me is enough.


	16. Death by Embarrassment

            I’m wandering around the apartment in a towel, eating chips out of one of those family sized bags.

            It’s not my proudest moment, but Merrill pops her head into the kitchen, sees me, and just says, “Hello!”

            “Hey, Merrill.” I shove another handful of chips in my mouth. “You were working late today?”

            Merrill nods seriously. “We got a new artifact shipped in a few hours ago and everyone lost track of time.”

            “More old bones?” I ask, trying not to shiver at the thought of Merrill poking around at human remains all day with her typical cheerfulness.

            “An ancient mirror!” Merrill’s face lights up. “The curators estimate it’s from around the second century! It’s honestly the most fascinating piece of history, Hawke.”

            “Mm,” I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm, though I’ve got zero clue as to why a mirror is so exciting. “Where’s if from?”

            “Modern day Lebanon. You should come to the exhibit when it opens! I’m going to be writing a paper on it, you know. Oh dear, I really don’t like writing papers.” Merrill frowns as she moves over to the kettle and turns it on.

            “I’m sure your paper will be great, Merrill,” I assure her, hoisting my towel up a little further when I realize it’s slipping.

            Not that Merrill would care. I think she’s mentioned a few times that she thought about joining a nudist colony at some point.

            “How was your day?” Merrill questions as she shakes some of her homemade loose-leaf concoction into a tea filter.

            “It was... Well, I survived it,” I settle on the reply with a frown and dig into the chip bag for the crumbs at the bottom.

            Merrill widens her eyes. “Didn’t you have that defense class tonight?”

            I groan and quickly swallow. “Don’t remind me. I fell on my butt.”

            “Oh.”

            “Three times.”

            “Oh, dear. That sounds rather painful.”

            I cringe. “Painful and embarrassing. The first time I literally just fell over Carver’s leg and landed on the mat.”

            “Well, at least there was a mat,” Merrill ventures hopefully.

            “At least there was a mat,” I affirm. “And it also made the fifteen other people in the room stare.”

            “That doesn’t sound very fun at all,” Merrill selects a dark green mug that matches the leaf tattoos on her neck.

            I crumple the now empty chip bag. “I don’t know if I can go next week. I think I might die from humiliation if I ever have to see them again.”

            Merrill pats my arm kindly. “You can’t actually die from that, Hawke. You’d just turn that lovely shade of red that appears on your face sometimes.”

            “Merrill,” I whine, throwing the chip bag into the trashcan and wondering if I can crawl inside with it.

            “Oh, I suppose that wasn’t the right thing to say.” Merrill looks at me apologetically. “It really will be fine. You’re adorable whenever you get embarrassed, you know.”

            I grimace at her. “Thanks.”

            “You don’t believe me, do you?” Merrill sighs as the kettle clicks and she pours herself hot water. “Tea?”

            “I’m okay, thanks.” I sigh dramatically. “At least Carver enjoyed himself.”

            Merrill runs a hand through her hair. “Carver’s very good at things like that, isn’t he?”

            “Things that involve throwing people around? Yeah.” I snort and rinse my hands off in the sink. “He also really took to the guy leading the class—Duncan Gray. He and Aveline will be teaching the next class together.”

            “Ooh, Aveline will be there? You really should keep going, Hawke. I feel like class with Aveline would be very fun.”

            “It would be very _something_ ,” I reply with a snort. “Anyway, I have a paper to go work on.”

            “Good luck!” Merrill gives me these cute little double thumbs up. “Oh, wait—I forgot to tell you. Tamlen and I will be going to Sundermount Spiritual Retreat Friday afternoon and will be gone until Sunday evening.”

            “Oh, that sounds nice.” I say lamely, as I’m not sure what that is.

            Merrill just nods vigorously. “Anyway, I thought I’d let you know… in case you wanted to…” She’s drawing all her words out intentionally. “See Fenris?”

            “Why would going to—” I frown, holding up my towel. Then I realize what she’s saying and try to glare indignantly, which is hard to do with sopping wet hair and a towel that doesn’t cover up my hairy legs that I’ve been too lazy to shave. “Merrill! Did Isabela put you up to this?”

            “Erm. Not exactly. I just said that Tamlen and I wanted to check out this retreat, and she told me to prompt you to invite Fenris over. Except I wasn’t supposed to tell you she said anything. Oh. Oh, no. I just told you.”

            “I don’t need Isabela’s meddling!” I squawk at her before clapping my hand over my face.

            “Isabela just wants you and Fenris to get along,” Merrill tells me sincerely.

            “Yeah, probably more than just get along,” I mutter. “I’m going to go slam my head against my keyboard a few times until an essay appears.” I head out of the kitchen before I add, “Don’t let Isabela draw you into her meddling anymore!”

            The essay, however, doesn’t appear at all. I go through my sources, pull out quotes, write an intro, and then stare at my laptop screen.

            My tailbone is starting to hurt from all the falling, too. When I see that it’s one, I crawl into bed feeling sore and incredibly unproductive.

            Then I think of tripping again during class and wince, burying my face into my pillow. _So freaking embarrassing._

My phone buzzes, and I drag myself out of my pity party to check the text. It’s from Fenris, and I squint at the message in the dark.

 

            _Are you awake? I received some news about my sister._

I hit the call button immediately, rolling over on my back. It better be good news. God knows he should have at least someone from his past that he could find.

            “Hawke.”

            I ignore the way I can feel myself grinning at the greeting. “Fenris! What did you hear back?”

            “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He sounds a little tired himself, his voice more raw than the usual gravelly depth.

            “No, I just gave up on my essay a few minutes ago. Were you able to find her?” I turn on my side, balancing the phone on my ear.

            “I… have her contact information. She’s living in Glasgow. She moved there last year, and before she’d been in Edinburgh.” Fenris sounds like he’s lying down, too.

            “Are you going to send her something? Do you have her address, or her e-mail, or her number?” I want to cheer, but something tells me Fenris is more concerned than excited from the long pause after my question.

            “Her e-mail address. I could write to her.” He hesitates again, and I can hear him take a slow breath. “I’m not sure what I would say.”

            I mull it over for a few moments. “You could tell her about your accident—that you don’t remember things from before, but you’d love to at least hear what she’s doing.”

            There’s more silence on his end of the call. “I don’t know how she would take hearing that I have no memory of her. It would be easier if I remembered our relationship before, but—”

            “She’s your sister, Fenris,” I say. “She’s got to love you.”

            “I’m not so sure,” Fenris answers quietly.

            And with that, I reach for my phone and clutch it tightly. “Do you think you weren’t on good terms?”

            There’s frustration in his voice as he says, “I don’t know. Even now, if she knew what I’ve done, that I’m running from debt to a man who I let destroy my life—”

            “She’d still be an idiot not to love you.” I answer stubbornly. “If she took issue with that, then that’s her loss.”

            Silence again.

            “I’m sorry, Fenris. This must be really hard,” I mumble into the phone. “You don’t have to e-mail her right now. You have a way to contact her, and you can wait as long as you want while you figure out what you want to say. And if you want to say anything at all.”

            “I’ll think about it,” Fenris says.

            “Mm,” I roll over again.

            “Thank you, Hawke.”

            “Hmm?”

            There’s a low chuckle. “Falling asleep?”

            “No,” I try not to slur my words. “I’m two seconds away from running laps around the apartment building.”

            Another chuckle, fuller this time. “Is that so?”

            “Yup.” I confirm, stifling a yawn. “Anyway, did you want to come over Friday night? Merrill’s going to some spiritual thing so we won’t have to compete for the kitchen.”

            “I get off of work at six. Is that alright?”

            “Perfect. Lasagna?”

            “I can pick up ingredients from the grocer’s.”

            “I think we actually have everything here already.”

            “Wine and ice cream?”

            I smile sleepily. “You’re the absolute best, Fen.”

            _Fen?_ My eyes widen suddenly, and I’m incredibly wide-awake and aware that I just, very stupidly, managed to nickname Fenris.

            He only laughs. “It seems that ice cream is the key to your approval.”

            I can’t believe I called him Fen. And he doesn’t seem to mind. _The only reason we actually work out is that he doesn’t seem to mind my complete social ineptitude._ “Ice cream is the key to life,” I reply without thinking.

            _Oh my God, Marie. Just stop. Stop now._

“Hmm.”

            “It’s true,” I mumble, pulling my sheets over my head and wondering how I’ve managed to embarrass myself so much in the last twelve hours. “So I’ll see you Friday?”

            _I have all day Thursday and until six on Friday to recover from this._

“Friday,” Fenris confirms. “Good night, Hawke.”

            “Good night.”

            I drop my phone on the floor next to my bed after I end the call, then proceed to writhe around. _You’re the absolute best, Fen. Ice cream is the key to life._

I then replay the scene in which I fell over my own feet when we were packing the mats up at the end of the self defense class.

            I’d leaned over to pick up the mat, forgetting I was still standing on one end. When I yanked up the other side—

            A quiet squealing noise escapes my mouth, and I think it might actually be possible to die from embarrassment, regardless of what Merrill claimed.

            I burrow further under my sheets and fall asleep thinking about every instance of complete humiliation I’ve experienced as far as my memory extends.

            There’s too many to get through.

            Such is life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This deceptively short chapter went through about eight complete re-writes (I blame my own research paper, which became the bane of my existence for a few weeks).
> 
> Sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience! ^^


	17. Head Over Heels (Metaphorically, This Time)

            I don’t think I’ll ever get over how amazing Fenris looks in sweaters.

            “Hey.” I tilt my chin up to catch a kiss as he closes the door behind him, grocery sack in hand.

            He smiles crookedly as I step back to let him finish taking off his coat and shrug off his messenger bag.

            _God_ he looks good in that sweater. I’m wearing my own red cable knit, and it hangs loose over one shoulder, a black camisole underneath.

            “I picked up cookie dough ice cream, though I’m not sure I see the appeal,” Fenris says as he sets his coat down on a rickety end table Merrill and I bought at a garage sale and stuck in our miniscule entry way.

            “It’s like… cookie dough in ice cream form.” I answer, wrinkling my nose. “Okay, that was a terrible explanation.”

            Fenris chuckles. “Admittedly so.”

            I stick my tongue out at him for a second before taking the treasured ice cream out of the sack and heading into the kitchen. “The lasagna has about ten more minutes to bake,” I call as I cram the carton into the freezer. Merrill has ice cube trays filled with various herbs she’s frozen into butter. There are at least four trays. “I got out of work early enough today to get a head start on making it.”

            “How was the essay?” Fenris asks as he follows me, placing a bottle of wine on the counter.

            “Done. It’s not quality, but around three this morning I decided to stop staring at it.” I yawn and shuffle over so I can rest my forehead against his chest. “But if you ever want to know anything about human rights in the Korean War, I can be your personal encyclopedia.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” Fenris answers, wrapping his arms around me. “Will you be busy this weekend?”

            I shake my head, rubbing my nose into his sweater. It’s only been a week since I’ve seen him, but I missed the smell of coffee and the heat of his skin. “Just a few chapters to read. What’s your work schedule?”

            “Late night shifts. I also…” Fenris breaks off, and I lean back to look at him.

            He’s wearing a neutrally serious expression, and I narrow my eyes trying to interpret it. “Is everything okay at _Cousland’s_?”

            Fenris nods. “I’m going in early on Sunday to meet with Varric. He went through the cover art drafts I sent him and selected one. I’m making some final changes, but I believe he means to use it.”

            My mouth drops open slowly before I grin and squeal simultaneously. It’s my turn to throw my arms around Fenris as I bounce on my toes. “Fenris, that’s amazing!”

            _He did it—he did it!_

            He blinks, seemingly bewildered while I try to stop making noises that sound like a dying squirrel. Fenris clears his throat. “I meant to tell you after I submitted them, but I wasn’t sure if they would be in Varric’s consideration.”

            “It’s fine, Fenris,” I’m doing a terrible job on tamping down on my excitement. “It’s just—it’s so great. Seriously, do you have any idea how picky Varric is when it comes to his books? If he chose your cover art—” I break off into unintelligible noises again, and I think I might implode from how ridiculously proud I am.

            “Hawke?” He’s watching me with a mixture of amusement and concern.

            “This is seriously so freaking awesome.” I beam at him.

            His eyebrows pull together ever so slightly. “It’s as if I won the lottery.”

            I shake my head. “Even better.”

            “Better?” He honestly looks confused.

            “Of course it’s better. You made your art again _and_ Varric thought it was perfect. Because trust me, he wouldn’t accept anything less than perfect for his books,” I tell him truthfully. “A million dollars has nothing on you, Fenris.”

            I’m so incredibly proud of him.

            I turn out of his arms to find a corkscrew for the wine. _We’ve got to have one somewhere. Do Merrill and I even drink wine?_

Rummaging through a drawer next to the kitchen sink, I can feel Fenris’s gaze on me and glance up at him.

            There’s something so incredibly _soft_ about the look in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his hair falls unevenly around his face. “I have it with me. The final version. I’m in the final stages of editing some of the shading, if—if you’d like to look.”

            “I’d love to.”

            He leaves the kitchen silently, and my heart beats a little faster in my chest. I’ve never seen any of his art before. Well, he hasn’t _made_ anything since he left London, from what he’s told me.

            And now he’s trusting me to see it.

            He has a sketchpad with him as he returns to the kitchen, large green eyes guarded again.

            I really want to scream at the commissioner for making Fenris this weary about something he should love. And then maybe even break my peace studies habits to kill the man for everything else.

            “This is the concept for the cover art,” he says quietly, flipping through the pages but keeping the pad toward himself. “I’ll have to go back with other mediums for publishing, but this is what I’ll be bringing to Varric.”

            He holds it out slowly, and I take the sketchpad with equal caution.

            It’s _beautiful._

The colors are soft and muted, all grays and blues. A delicately framed figure stands with back turned, a dragon that looks like it’s half smoke in the background, almost blending in with the stormy sky.

            “Wow,” I whisper, taking in the whole page. “Wow,” I repeat again, noticing the individual strands of black hair on what I now realize is a petite woman holding a dark wood staff. “Fenris, this is—wow.”

            I can’t stop looking it. “My dad always said making art was so incredible because it allowed you to see the world in a different light. Maybe in rosy pastels, or in sharp, jagged angles. This is—this is like seeing underwater, or looking through foggy glass without losing any of the focus. God, I don't know how to explain it.” My dad could’ve analyzed it more, probably understood the hours Fenris spent to get it like this. All I’ve got is his appreciation for beautiful art.

            I wrench my eyes away from the sketchpad to his drawn, closed-off face. “I love it.”

            “Thank you,” he murmurs, some of the tension leaving the hunch in his shoulders.

            “I’m serious. I wish I could show this to my dad. He would’ve loved it, too. And been happy to talk to you about it in more sophisticated terms since all I’ve got is ‘wow’ and ‘beautiful’. I might throw in a few ‘pretty colors’ remarks here and there, too,” I babble.

            He smirks slightly at me, easing back into himself. “And here I thought you were a professional art critic from our time at the warehouse art show.”

            “Oh, yes. Those yellow squares were really exemplifying true craftsmanship, questioning the meaning of life with their… yellowness.” I give up on even trying to make a fake art review.

            Fenris snorts and takes the sketchpad back just as the timer on the oven goes off. “It really is ‘wow’ worth though!” I half shout, because I’m not sure I can get over it. “Can you autograph it for me once Varric’s book comes out?”

            I fortunately remember to use oven mitts to take out the casserole dish (I’ve forgotten a sad number of times and reached into the blazing oven), and Fenris puts the pad away in his bag before uncorking the wine.

            We don’t have wine glasses in the apartment, but we do have mason jars. It’s all very classy.

            I’m proud of the Hawke family lasagna recipe, and Fenris gives it his approval after the first bite.

            He tells me about his week at work, then about Velanna actually laughing at something Isabela said yesterday, and I nearly keel over from shock.

            “Isabela must be magic,” I declare as I slide off the barstool and walk around the counters to the sink, taking our empty plates with me.

            “Or Velanna has a sense of humor none of us anticipated,” Fenris supplies as he comes around to help, grabbing the dishtowel as I begin to wash.

            I think about it for a second, handing Fenris a spatula I’d used for serving. “Isabela being magical is a more likely train of thought. More logical, at the very least.”

            Fenris chuckles. “I see.”

            I’m complaining about the epitome of humorless—the provost, Meredith—when we break out the ice cream.

            “I just don’t understand how one person could be so—so—ugh.” I groan dramatically, handing a spoon to Fenris as we both lean over the carton. “This is one problem ice cream can’t solve.”

            “Is your project still feasible with the funding cuts?” Fenris asks, eyeing the ice cream skeptically.

            I nod. “Still feasible. I just have a very special dislike for Meredith.” I giggle when Fenris still gives the cookie dough an affronted look. “Is the ice cream that offending?”

            “I don’t eat ice cream often. Is it supposed to look like this?” Fenris is completely serious.

            Cracking up again, I nod. “Trust me on this, it’s delicious.” Maybe the little balls of misshapen cookie dough look weird, but it never stopped me as a kid. Then again, very little prevented me from shoving any type of food into my mouth when I was growing up.

            He sighs, dips his spoon into the carton to get a decent amount, and then brings it to his lips.

            “The anticipation is killing me, Fenris,” I cover my eyes with my hands. “Just eat it and tell me if it’s as good as I made it out to be.”

            There’s a few moments of silence, and then, “Hm.”

            I immediately lower my fingers. “Good?”

            “Very good,” he agrees.

            I relax, now heaping ice cream on my spoon. “I can’t believe you’ve never had cookie dough ice cream before.”

            Fenris is digging into the carton as well. “It’s better than I expected.”

            “You’d think I was trying to feed you some weird fungus from all the looks you were giving it,” I tease.

            “I’m usually not fond of sweet things,” Fenris tells me as he gets another spoonful. “Yet _Cousland’s_ cinnamon rolls, Isabela’s chai tea, and cookie dough ice cream have become exceptions.”

            “All the best things in life,” I deadpan.

            We admit we can’t finish the carton when we’re about halfway through and put it away, leaving our spoons in the sink.

            I sit on the edge of the counter, running my fingers through Fenris’s hair. At certain angles I can see the scar from his surgery if I push white strands out of the way. All I can think of is the way my heart feels like it’s still ready to burst out of my chest. The cover art concept he’s submitting to Varric is so incredible.

            I restrain myself from making more high-pitched noises, instead saying, “I’m really glad you decided to submit your art to Varric.”

            Fenris tilts his face to look up at me. “I am, as well. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to make anything. It was… not easy.”

            “Out of practice? Or just hard?” I ask softly.

            He’s quiet. And then he answers, “Both. But I needed to do it. I had to prove to myself that I didn’t have to run anymore. I gave up everything to leave—I wanted some of my life back. Hopefully with my sister, I can find more.”

            I don’t stop playing with his hair, not wanting to change the way that he’s comfortable enough to talk to me right now. “Is there anything else that you want again? That you could try to find?”

            “I didn’t expect to find as much as I did in Kirkwall.” He grasps my wrists, pulling my hands down slowly.

            For a second I worry that he was uncomfortable with my hands in his hair, but then he places my hands on his chest and I meet his eyes.

            Heat rushes over my skin, warming me from the inside out. I love that shade of green more than any color in the world.

            “I… have never allowed anyone too close,” Fenris says quietly, and I can feel his heart under my right palm. “I didn’t think I needed anyone. Or wanted anyone. Until now.”

            “Until now?”

            “Until you.”

            I inhale sharply, though I’m sure Fenris must be able to _hear_ my frantic heartbeat. “I was terrified of falling for someone again until you, you know,” I whisper, leaning in to rest my forehead on his. He keeps his hands around my waist to steady me on the countertop. “And I guess I literally fell on you multiple times in the process, too.”

            He gives a small, gravelly laugh at that. Then he shifts, catching my lips with his.

            My hands slide over his chest to his shoulders, then gently locking around his neck as he deepens the kiss, wine and cookie dough on his tongue.

            _Marie, you complete idiot, you’re in love with him._

            Merrill was right.

            And I am such a goner.

            My hands drift up, fingers tangling in his hair as he grips my waist and pulls me closer to him. I wrap my legs around him, half for balance and half to just be closer.

            “Is all of this okay?” I gasp when we finally break apart. I’m struggling to breathe but so glad that I remembered to ask.

            Fenris nods, seemingly taking a moment to catch his breath as well. “Tell me to go at any time, Hawke, and I’ll leave.”

            I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone. “Stay. Please. If you want to.”

            Then somehow he’s kissing me again with a pressure that’s making my head spin, and his hands are at the hem of my sweater, and I help him pull it up, over my head. The cooler air hits my arms, though I’m still burning up with the black camisole on.

            It’s not until both of our sweaters are on the kitchen tile and Fenris’s hands move to the waistband of my leggings that I freeze completely.

            It takes less than a second for Fenris to draw back, though I keep my legs wrapped loosely around him.

            “Oh, shit,” I mutter to myself.

            _Of all the times you could be lazy, Marie, this was about the worst._

“Hawke? I’m sorry, I thought—that was wrong, I shouldn’t have—”

            “No, no.” I say quickly, realizing Fenris has the completely wrong idea as a new, embarrassed blush spreads over my face. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I _want_ you to stay the night. I mean, I want to have sex with you." There goes any hope of sounding coy or romantic. I could've at least gone for the classic 'make love to me', but of course, I don't do eloquence. At all. "I just wasn’t thinking and…”

            _Oh my God. Oh my freaking God. What am I even saying right now?_

I bury my face in his shoulder, in complete humiliation. In a very small voice, I inform him, “I have wookiee legs.”

            Silence.

            “Wookiee… legs?”

            I look up at him slowly, wincing. “You know, from _Star Wars_?” Can lightning hit someone inside an apartment building?

            Scratch that, it’s not even raining.

            _What’s the probability of an earthquake?_

            Fenris is frowning, obviously struggling to breathe normally, his eyes still dark. “Yes, I remember now. Why… wookiees?”

            I cringe as I say, “Well. I may or may not have been lazy recently and… not cared enough to shave my legs. And I know that some people really hate that. And I didn’t want it to be an unpleasant surprise for you to find out and not say anything, when really it bothered you or something. Because, you know, my legs might feel like a cactus and look like the giant hairy creatures from my childhood. Which might not be your ideal leg standard. Um.” Ideal leg standard, good one.

            More silence.

            _Earthquake, please. Earthquake, please. Or maybe a flash flood or small fire. Did I leave the oven on?_

His shoulders are shaking, followed by scratching laughter, his bare chest rumbling against mine. “Hawke,” he says between rough chuckles, “Hawke. I don’t mind.”

            “Why are you laughing?” I squawk indignantly, not at all covering my complete embarrassment.

            “Because you introduced this whole subject by claiming you have ‘wookiee legs’.” Fenris gives me a beautiful, unguarded grin.

            I lightly smack his arm. “It’s the first thing that I thought of, okay?”

            Fenris just shakes his head as I continue to flush. “I’m certain it was,” he mutters.

            “It’s not funny,” I argue, but that only makes Fenris snort again. I can’t stay serious, and give in. “Okay, it is a bit ridiculous. But… are you sure you don’t mind? I can always go take a shower, or—”

            “Hawke,” Fenris says, and all other relevant thoughts completely flee from my brain. He sweeps a piece of hair out of my face. “I don’t mind. I want to be with you.”

            And just like that, I remember that with Fenris, I’m safe.

            I kiss the tattoos on his forehead first, then the bridge of his nose. “Good, because I want to be with you.”

            I steal a quick kiss from his lips before adding, “But you’re not allowed to call me Chewbacca.”

            Fenris laughs again, perfect and raw and low, and pulls me away from the countertop, supporting my weight as I tighten my legs around him.

            “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says before reclaiming my mouth again.


	18. Bad Dreams or Sucky Realities

            There’s a weird rustling noise, and I make an attempt to open my eyes.

            _Ouch._

I groan loudly, realizing I fell asleep in my contacts again.

            And I fell asleep with Fenris.

            That jolts me awake, and I’m half giddy as I roll away from the wall I’m facing, careful not to accidentally elbow him in the ribs.

            Except he’s not in bed with me.

            I blink, trying to see in the darkness of my room. The clock on my nightstand reads 4:34, and Fenris isn’t there.

            He’s not here.

            I climb out of bed half-asleep still and grab an old, three sizes too big sweatshirt sitting over the back of my desk chair. I pull it over my head as I shuffle into the hallway.

The sweatshirt covers the tops of my thighs as I follow the source of light to the kitchen, wondering if Fenris went to get water or a snack.

            I round the corner to find him adjusting his sweater from yesterday, fully dressed.

            His head jerks up when he sees me, and there’s something terrifyingly raw about the look in his eyes.

            Not just getting water then.

            “Fen?” I rub my eyes, frowning at his expression. “What’s wrong?”

            “Hawke.” He doesn’t look directly at me.

            “Was it that bad?” I ask before I really process what I’m saying. I cringe at my own words. It hadn’t _seemed_ bad at all. Especially not when we fell asleep together talking about old sci-fi movies and making plans to go to the theater next weekend, my head on his chest, with him tracing circles on my bare shoulder.

“It was fine,” Fenris answers, shifting his weight, his shoulders bowed.

            I stare at him, completely unsure of what to think.

            “More than fine, Hawke. Being with you was…” He still refuses to meet my eyes. “You’re more than anything I could’ve dreamed of.”

            “Okay, what’s going on?” The sleeves of the gray sweatshirt are far too long as I try to reach out to touch his face.

            He jerks away.

            Away from me.

            I draw back immediately, half-startled and half-horrified because I recognize it. It was his immediate instinct to pull back, with fear written all over his face.

            I _know_ that reaction. It was mine with Anders after Justice turned me into a punching bag, and again when I saw Anders a few weeks ago. But why…

            I blink. “Fen? Did I… did I hurt you?”

            He flinches again, this time just at my words. It’s true. God, it’s true. And he’s… he’s afraid of me.

            _Why is he afraid of me?_

            All the air is rushing from my lungs with the realization, and the kitchen light is too bright and my head is spinning.

            “No, Hawke. You didn’t. But I—I can’t. I _can’t_.” He presses both of his palms over his face, his voice breaking.

            “Fen, please.” It sounds to small. Too vulnerable. It feels like I’m not even in my own body anymore. Is this real? Maybe I’m still dreaming. I’ve got to be still dreaming. “I—I’m sorry. Please talk to me.”

            He shakes his head, and then his hands fall away, returning to his sides. His shoulders remain hunched as he murmurs, “Forgive me.”

            He steps by me, and I think I’m not even standing in my own kitchen, but floating somewhere above it. I’m swaying on my feet, but I don't turn around.

            Because I know he’s leaving.

            And I let him go without another word.

            If it’s real, there’s nothing I can do. If it’s a dream, I’ll wake up and be pressed against his side with the sun rising outside my window.

            I can hear him picking up his bag, the door opening and closing again.

            Then silence.

            My ears are roaring and I grab the edge of the counter to anchor myself to something.

            Real.

            And then I’m choking on tears, struggling to breathe past the strangled sobs, and it _hurts._

I’m such an idiot.

            Such a complete idiot.

            The clock on the oven reads 4:40.

            I hurt Fenris. He’s afraid of me.

            Fenris is afraid of me. I hurt him.

            _Why?_

_How?_

            Everything was fine. Everything was perfect.

            Did I do something?

            Did I say something?

            It’s replaying in my head. The laughing as my leggings caught around my ankles, every kiss and touch and—

            _No, nothing happened. Nothing was wrong._

            Then when we were talking in bed. We joked about _Star Wars_ and the green lightsaber I had growing up. He ran one hand through my hair before settling it on my shoulder. I left a trail of kisses across his chest while we talked about what to send to his sister.

            _No, nothing wrong there._

What was it?

            My nose is running, and my face aches from the way it scrunches up when I cry. My throat is raw, sore, but the terrible gagging noises of stopped.

            I can barely make out the time with blurred vision.

            5:03.

            I hurt Fenris, made him afraid of me, and I have absolutely no idea how I did it. Or what I did.

            I squat on the floor, trying to remember how to breathe as I hold my face in my hands, covered by overlarge sleeves. _What did you do, Marie?_

The thought that he reacted to me like I did with Anders—how could I do something like that and not even remember it?

            Was it something from earlier in the night that he didn’t tell me about?

            No, he wouldn’t have waited so long in his reaction. That was almost immediate.

            And he said that I didn’t hurt him.

            _What happened?_

My hands are shaking as I stand up, pushing myself from the stained tile floor.

            _Breathe._

5:12.

            I move slowly down the hall, past my room and then Merrill’s, and get to the bathroom.

            It’s not just my hands shaking—it’s all of me. My legs are unsteady as I yank off the sweatshirt and clamber into the shower, turning on the hot water and sitting down.

            I rest my chin on my kneecaps and try to stop thinking.

            “ _Did I hurt you?”_

_“No Hawke. You didn’t. But I—I can’t. I can’t.”_

Can’t what?

            The shower has one of its cold spitting incidents, courtesy of Alienage Lane, and I reach up half-heartedly to turn the water off.

            Was he honest when I said I didn’t hurt him? If he was, why would he flinch away like I was going to hurt him? Like I was about to hit him instead of hold his cheek?

            My back starts to hurt from the curved position I’m sitting in on the floor of the tiny shower, and I have to brace myself on the cheap linoleum sides to stand.

            I towel off and head back to my room, steps a little more steady.

            Grabbing my phone from where I left it on my desk, I check for something from Fenris.

            No new messages.

            It was stupid to expect anything else.

            5:45.

            I stare at the dark screen, wrapped in a towel, my eyes swollen, and shivering.

            Perching in the chair, I replay it all again.

            And again.

            Everything has a dull ache to it. I feel sore somehow, and want to crawl back into bed. But instead of moving, I’m thinking of our conversation in the kitchen.

            “ _No Hawke. You didn’t. But I—I can’t. I can’t.”_

            Whatever _did_ happen, he’s hurting. And he’s alone, too.

            It’s thinking of that first look in his eyes when I walked into the kitchen that makes me pick up my phone and call him, mostly impulsively.

            It rings.

            And rings.

            His automated voicemail message answers, and at the tone, my mouth goes dry.

            “Hey.”

            It’s a start.

            “It’s me. That’s probably obvious from the caller ID. Obviously. Um.”

            It’s a terrible start.

            I try taking a deep breath and the sound shudders.

            “I just wanted to make sure you were… Well, I know you’re not okay. Fen, I’m sorry. I don’t know—” I falter, biting my lip. “I’m here. If you want to talk to me about what happened, or about how you’re feeling—I’m here. Whatever you need, just let me know.”           I put my forehead on the edge of my desk. “And if you don’t want to talk with me, that’s… that’s okay. I would understand.” My throat closes up again. _Don’t you dare, Marie._ But I’m thinking about how the thought of seeing Justice or Anders terrified me. Terrifies me. If I became that to him—God, I’m going to be sick.

            “Your talk with Varric will go great tomorrow.” I choke it out. “You’re an amazing artist, Fen.”

            _End the damn call before you start blubbering._

“Good luck.”

            I end the call and stare at my phone as I set it back down next to my keyboard.

            That was a terrible message. I didn’t even say anything I wanted to say. Or needed to say. I should’ve written it out beforehand, or—

            _Breathe._

            I replay it all again, burying my face in my knees.

            That’s all I’ve been doing. Going over every word I remember saying. The changes in his expression.

            Everything had seemed fine.

            How did it all come crashing down so quickly?

            I look up slowly, the clock on my nightstand informing me again that it’s 6:10.

            Though I already know what I’m going to find, I look at my phone again.

            Nothing.

            I slide out of my chair and climb back into bed, still wearing my towel. The sheets are soft, but my pillow still smells a little bit like his hair.

            My eyes fill with tears again, and I pull the covers over my head.

            _Please let this all be a dream. I don’t want it to be like this when I wake up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two versions of this chapter completed, and I had to go with this one for my outline's sake.  
> (Where'd the fluff go? *cringing*)  
> I promise that there's lots and lots of that to come! The cute is just on a temporary hold.


	19. When Hermits Have Friends

            I’m okay.

            I’m completely, totally, one hundred percent okay.

            Really.

            It’s just the guy with his stupid black beanie and stupid black coat who _isn’t_ stupid Fenris gets on the bus and I’m staring at him because for a second I think he _is_ stupid Fenris.

            Stupid, beautiful, brilliant, talented, kind, protective Fenris.

            I quickly look out the grimy bus window as we screech away from the stop. Not-Fenris takes a seat a few rows in front of me and I stare at the back of his head.

            It’s Friday again. Two weeks since Fenris and I slept together. Of course, freaking Valentine’s Day was the Tuesday after he walked out on me.

            Merrill went out with Tamlen, and I skulked around the apartment.

            Well, I wasn’t skulking. Because I’m okay.

            Not-Fenris leans back, turning his head slightly. None of his features resemble Fenris. It’s just the clothes.

            I haven’t been by _Cousland’s._ And I’ve unceremoniously ignored any group texts. By ignored, I mean I check and mope and then go about my day again.

            Because I’m okay.

            Fenris hasn’t sent anything to me—or to the group text. In fact, the only thing I’ve heard about him is from Isabela. She’d texted me multiple times over the last two weeks, starting on the Monday after our weekend together.

            She’d wanted to know why Fenris was brooding more than usual. And then on that Wednesday, she’d wanted to know why I wasn’t coming to _Cousland’s_ like usual. And then on Thursday morning, she’d called me and left a voicemail saying Fenris wasn’t telling her anything but she knew something was wrong and I couldn’t avoid her forever.

            _Well, I’m doing a pretty good job of it as of right now._

Not that I need to avoid her or anything.

            Because I’m okay.

            I wriggle back in the bus seat and bring my knees to my chest. I’d managed to break the printer at work today, which left my terrifying boss Morrigan in a cranky mood, and then I’d made an exchange student cry when I told her how much her debt was to the school.

            Not my finest moments.

            I think I apologized to Morrigan five times and to the poor exchange student at least seven times.

            God, the look on her face was awful. Like I’d just kicked her in the shin and told her she had an ugly haircut.

            At least her expression wasn’t as guilt inducing as—

            _Don’t. Stop. You’re okay, Marie._

Life goes on. I’ve always known that.

            I learned it when I was begging to be homeschooled in second grade because the kids made fun of my glasses and the way I always played alone.

            My dad had told me when I cried, sitting on his lap after one terrible day of school.

            _“Life goes on, Marie. Tomorrow you’ll smile again. If it not tomorrow, then the day after. But you can’t let life go on without you. Do you understand?”_

I squeeze my eyes shut.

_I understand, Dad._

The bus squeals its breaks and I rock forward, flailing momentarily before I throw my legs and arms out to catch my balance before my face flies into the seat in front of me.

            It’s my stop, and I hurry off, backpack digging into my shoulders from the stupid books I have crammed inside for my International Intervention Methods class.

            I think I need my own intervention for Marieland.

            I haven’t gone grocery shopping in the last two weeks, either. In fact, I haven’t left the apartment unless it was to go to class or work. Though I did go with Carver to the self-defense class because Aveline heard I had come to the first one. She insisted, managing to threaten me over text, that I keep attending. I read the entire thing in her flat, disapproving tone.

            It was something about me not being so much of a doormat.

            _Thanks, Aveline._

But I really haven’t seen anyone else for quite a while now.

            So maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised to unlock the door to find multiple pairs of shoes all piled up by the end table.

            “She’s home!” Merrill squeals from the living room, flipping around lithely on the sofa so she’s perched on her knees.

            “You…” I manage to say. It comes out slightly strangled.

            Isabela sticks her head out of the kitchen, and Zevran pops up from where he must be seated on the floor in front of Merrill.

            Sebastian’s on a barstool, and gives me a little wave that almost looks sheepish.

            “Yes, yes, it’s so lovely to see us, you’ve missed us dearly, you love us, all of that. We know, my dear girl.” Zev grins devilishly at me.

            “What the hell are you all doing in the apartment?” I squawk, still not moving out of the doorway.

            Sebastian turns faintly pink, but Isabela cackles. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, Kitten. We couldn’t have you be antisocial forever, could we?”

            I take a step inside and close the door, swinging off my backpack as I push my glasses up further on my nose. I hadn’t bothered to wear contacts in several days, and I’m wearing Isabela’s least favorite sweatpants. I’m sure she’s going to comment on it.

            “I’m not being antisocial,” I mutter sullenly as I set my backpack down on the floor.

            Zev _tsks_ at me. “Whatever you are, _bella_ , we decided we couldn’t let you avoid us any longer. So since you wouldn’t come to _Cousland’s—_ ”

            “We’re taking _Cousland’s_ to you!” Isabela grins at me, finally stepping out from behind the wall to the kitchen. She’s holding a take out cup and box. “One large chai, made by the most talented, nimble, _dexterous_ hands in Kirkwall, and some of your favorite sweets.”

            I stare at her, her innuendo only half registering. That persistent knot in my throat forms again, but this time it doesn’t feel like it’s smothering. Instead, it’s just mildly embarrassing.

            Maybe it’s because the last two weeks were incredibly rough and suddenly some of my favorite people magically appeared in my apartment.

            I’m not even angry.

            “You’re all the best. Even if you show up at the apartment unannounced and ambush me.”

            Isabela winks, waving one of her _dexterous_ hands airily. “We know. Of course, I’m the best of the best. With my skillful fingers making your choice drink.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

            I snort, wiping my eyes determinedly. “I can’t argue since you control my chai supply.”

            They have music on in the background, and I love them all so much.

            Isabela brandishes the deliciousness she’s holding and I quickly lunge forward to grab them.

            “Did you guys already have something to drink? Do you want anything to eat?” I ask, setting down the to go box and finding that it contains two cinnamon rolls, a blueberry scone, and a little cherry tart.

            “I’m fine,” Sebastian says, still looking a little guilty. Probably because he argued with Isabela about whether or not it was okay to show up to the apartment. I bet Merrill got him to come.

            “Are you sure? I have Scottish Breakfast tea.” I name his favorite with a grin, finally not feeling like I’m about to choke on how lovely these people are.

            Sebastian smiles now, obviously relieved. “I’d love some. I can take care of it.”

            He moves to stand, and I shake my head. “I got it, Sebastian. Anyone else want tea?”

            “Me!” Zev calls from the floor.

            “Me too, please!” Merrill adds.

            “Do you think if I added a little whiskey—”

            “Isabela,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, four cups of tea.” I fill up our electric kettle before turning it on and leaning against the counter.

            Isabela and Zev are arguing about whether or not whiskey would taste any good with tea.

            “You both are ridiculous,” I inform them. When the water boils and they’ve moved on to debating sweet tea sangria versus bourbon iced tea.

            I bring each of them their tea in a different colored and oddly shaped mug, since Merrill and I don’t have matching sets of anything, and grab a cinnamon roll before I settle on the floor beside Zev, leaning on his shoulder.

            He kisses my hair. “We have options, _bella._ Will you talk to us?”

            “Talk about what?” I shove the cinnamon roll in my face.

            Zev sighs. “Marie, you can’t eat your way out of conversations.”

            “I ha no ihea wha yo ‘aying.” I at least have the decency to put my hand over my mouth, though I wonder if being gross will deter further discussion.

            “Isabela,” Zev raises his voice and tilts his head. “Where’s that rope you brought?”

            It catches me in the middle of a swallow and I start coughing, nearly choking to death on a particularly cinnamon-y part of the roll. “Oh my God.”

            Merrill leans down from the sofa to pat my back gently, doing absolutely nothing at all as I continue to hack my lungs out. “I think you surprised her a bit, Zevran,” Merrill says mildly.

            My eyes are watering. “Rope? Really, Zev?”

            Isabela saunters over, holding out my chai. “Drink. Try not to choke on this too.”

            I take if from her and suck it down. Fortunately it’s not blistering hot.

            _Not that I bothered to cheek. Whoops._

“If you don’t want to talk, Hawke, you don’t have to. We’re happy to just order pizza and spend the night in,” Sebastian’s voice floats kindly from behind me.

            I nod vigorously, taking a deep breath as my coughing fit subsides. “That’s a great idea. If anyone’s using rope in this apartment, it will be to tie Isabela and Zev together and leave them in the bathroom.”

            Zev’s face turns pensive. “Tied to Isabela? Is that a punishment or a reward for my behavior?”

            I wrinkle my nose. “Zev.”

            “If you’re a very, very good boy, I’ll think about it,” Isabela purrs, draping herself over the edge of the couch.

            “And here I thought it was if I was very, very bad.” Zev gives her his bedroom eyes.

            I gag. “Please stop. I don’t need any more mental images of you two… tied together.”

            Sebastian is pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing, though his cheeks aren’t as red as mine must be. After all, he did mention he had quite a history with women before he went on the whole extremely religious path. Maybe Zev and Isabela’s conversation topics don’t actually bother the guy in seminary school as much as it flusters me.

            “I’m wounded,” Zev presses a hand to his chest, not appearing wounded at all. “Kiss it better?”

            “You’re impossible,” I swat his arm. “Now who wants pizza?”

            So we order a large, half pepperoni and half pineapple, and play card games on the floor between the sofa and the television.

            Sebastian sits close to me, and I occasionally catch him watching me with a concerned expression.

            I pull on a smile whenever I see him doing it. Because I _am_ happy. At least, much happier than I’ve been in two weeks.

            In fact, this entire evening I haven’t thought of Fenris—

            _Damn it._

I stare at the cards in my hand, thinking of the way he walked past me that morning and hadn’t contacted me since.

            The twisted expression on his face, the pain in his eyes, the way his voice broke.

            In all honesty, I’m upset with him. It makes me feel like a monster.

            I hurt him, made him scared of me, and he walked away. It makes sense.

            But did he think of how much it hurt _me_?

            It makes me a terrible person for being upset with him. I’ve spent several nights flashing between guilt over whatever I did to him, frustration with him leaving me, and guilt at being frustrated. The process repeats.

            And repeats.

            “Hawke?” Sebastian’s voice is quiet, and I realize it’s my turn.

            “Um. Right.” I quickly look at the most recent card that’s been turned face up. I resume the game, but I can tell the mood changed.

            I get up to take our dishes to the kitchen, and Isabela follows me.

            “Kitten?”

            I bite my lip, setting plates in the sink. “Yeah?”

            Isabela leans in, brushing my hair away from my eyes. “You and Fenris still aren’t talking to each other?”

            I nod wordlessly. “It’s not… it’s not just like that, though,” I say quietly, since just over the countertops Zevran is caught up in an extravagant tale from his days of hiking around Morocco.

            “Then what is it?” Isabela pushes, but her voice is much more gentle than usual. “Hawke, you haven’t shut yourself away like this since Justice.”

            I shiver at the name. “It’s not like that either.”

            “No?” Isabela muses. “Because I did threaten to pluck out Fenris’s eyeballs and where them on a necklace if he hurt you.”

            I can’t even find any amusement or mild outrage at the joke. I duck my head as Merrill and Sebastian laugh at something Zevran’s saying now. “I hurt him.”

            Isabela leans against the counter. “What do you mean by that?”

            “It’s complicated.”

            “That’s why I usually opt for the ‘no strings attached’ when involved with other people,” Isabela sighs, not unkindly. “And Fenris seems to have his share of issues.”

            I squeeze my eyes shut. “I think that something I did made it all worse. I woke up and he was leaving, and I tried to convince him to stay, but he—he flinched away like he was scared of me and I don’t know why. And he left. He left me, Isabela.” The words all come out in a tumble, and my eyes start burning again.

            I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m so stupid. After constantly saying I was going to look out for myself, I just… But God, I thought that I lo—I’ve never felt that way about anyone but him. He makes—made— me feel safe, and happy, and I could laugh and tell awkward jokes, and—and—”

            Isabela pulls me into her arms. “This is why I usually stick to a quick fling.”

            I snivel. “Very helpful.”

            “That’s me. I’m a helper,” Isabela says as she rubs a hand over my back in little circles. “I didn’t realize you had sex with him.”

            “Yeah.” I exhale slowly, trying to get a handle on myself. “Is it selfish to be angry?” It comes out without me really thinking about it at all, quiet and small.

            “No.”

            “Is it selfish to wish that he hadn’t left?”

            “No.”

            I can feel my face contorting, but the answers send some of the tension out of my shoulders. “I miss him. However dumb that makes me, I miss him.”

            Isabela swears under her breath. “I’m no good at this. But maybe you should… talk to him.” She sounds almost pained to say it. “It’s not what I would do, not that I’d even get myself into your position, but it might help you.”

            I shake my head. “I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

            “His loss.” Isabela tells me immediately. Then after a moment, she says, “Either way, you can’t spend all your time hiding and not leaving your apartment.”

            “I’ve been leaving my apartment plenty,” I grumble.

            Isabela pats my back now. “Merrill already told me about your habits the last two weeks, Kitten.”

            “Traitor.”

            “Don’t be too mad at her. She’s been worried about you.”

            I sigh, then realize my face is on the top of Isabela’s well endowed chest.

            “Your boobs are really comfy,” I mumble.

            Isabela chortles and I straighten as she drops her arms. “They have their uses,” she says, looking down at them appreciatively.

            I roll my eyes, letting myself get away with a final sniff before I decide to stop moping. “Okay.” I roll my shoulders back. “Want to put on a movie?”

            Isabela smirks at me, the gold stud below her lip glinting in the cheap kitchen light. “Can it be a dirty movie?”

            I smack my palm to my forehead. “For twenty seconds, Isabela, _twenty seconds_ , could you think about something that’s not inherently sexual?”

            “You ask so much, _bella_.” Zev chortles from the living room.

            I groan. “Merrill, Sebastian, and I are going to pick out the movie.”

            Isabela pouts, and I see Zev is wearing the exact same expression.

            “No dirty movies!” I cover my eyes to avoid their pleading and run out of the kitchen, only to smack my hip into the corner of the countertop and stumble face first into the wall.

            That makes Isabela burst into laughter, and I blink, hands coming away from my eyes as heat rushes up my neck. Sebastian’s hiding a smile with his hand, Merrill’s giggling, and Zevran is rocking back and forth.

            I try to glare, but give up and join in.

            Maybe I’m not okay right now.

            But I’m smiling.

            Because life goes on.

            And I don’t want it to go on without me.

            I have to sit down when my sides start hurting, sliding to the floor as we all laugh ourselves into breathless wheezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The resident brooding elf will return soon! As for this chapter, I hope the craziness of Hawke's friends filled the gap a little bit.


	20. Unfortunate Practical Applications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tag for minor violence was added (for this chapter and a few before that I probably should've had the tag up on).   
> If at any point you feel uncomfortable reading and want a summary, let me know! I can also add further tags if anyone thinks it's necessary.

            “Are you coming in or not, Kitten?”

            I make a face at Isabela, tapping my fingers on the side of my leggings. “Why won’t you tell me if he’s there or not?”

            Isabela sighs. “Is that important?”

            I throw my hands up. “Yes, it’s important!”

            We’re standing outside of _Cousland’s_ in the dark, and it’s cold even for a March evening.

            “You haven’t seen Fenris in… how long now? A month?” Isabela looks at me impatiently. “So come inside, I’ll make you chai, and you can either stand at the counter and pine from a distance, or you can go up to him and ask how he’s doing.”

            “I don’t pine!”

            Isabela shakes her head.

            “Fine. I’ll go inside. But if he looks at me like he’s still terrified, I’m booking it back out the door.”

            Isabela sighs again. “Come on, Hawke.”

            My stomach does a nervous little flop as she pushes the glass door open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I mutter under my breath.

            It only takes two steps for the bookstore register to come into view, but I can’t make myself turn and look. There are only a few people occupying the tables in the café area, leaving _Cousland’s_ relatively quiet.

            Instead I bite my lip, staring straight ahead as Isabela and I approach the counter. Nate’s currently working, and Isabela blows him a kiss as she swings over the countertop gracefully.

            “Isabela,” Nate grumbles as a greeting. He nods to me with a hint more friendliness. “Hawke.”

            “Hey, Nate.” Does my voice sound funny?

            It totally sounds funny.

            If Fenris is working, he might’ve seen me by now. Or maybe he’s in the back doing inventory today.

            “Haven’t seen you around much lately. Small chai?” Nate asks, and I nod, pulling out my wallet and digging for change.

            It’s such a typical motion, but being here and thinking (worrying) about Fenris reminds me instantly of the first time we met.

            I quickly hand the money to Nate, dying just to look over my shoulder to see if the familiar flash of white hair is behind me.

            But I can’t do it.

            I was doing so much better the last two weeks. I went out with Merrill, didn’t fall on my butt during class with Carver, got _Sandal’s Scoops_ ice cream with Sebastian, ate dinner with Varric and the rest of my family—

            I blink, realizing Nate’s talking to me. “Sorry, what was that?”

            Nate frowns slightly, and I wince. “I asked if you were feeling alright.”

            “Oh! Yeah, I’m fine. Great, actually. Usually I get colds like crazy around this time, though. Merrill bought a massive bag of oranges, so maybe the vitamin c is keeping it all at bay.” I give the long explanation, heat creeping up the back of my neck.

            “Glad to hear it,” Nate answers, his frown deepening.

            Then again, Nate always looks like he’s frowning. He has a very stern face.

            Thankfully, Isabela returns with my chai. “Here you are.”

            “Thank you.” I take it from her, ignoring the way her eyes narrow.

            “You—”

            “I’ll see you later!” I cut her off as quickly as possible, whirling around to run to the doors.

            And I smack into someone instead, chai sloshing down the front of my dress.

            I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, heat burning down my chest as the near-boiling liquid hits.

            With my free hand, I tug the fabric of my dress away from my skin.

            “Sorry,” I say quickly to whoever I bumped into, glad my dress is loose enough to pull away so I’m not stuck with the continuous burning sensation.

            “Hawke.”

            I freeze, still awkwardly holding my cup away from my body and plucking at my dress, and slowly raise my chin.

            Bright green irises, almost silver hair, delicate white lines of tattoos on cool brown skin—

            “Fenris.”

            We both stare at each other.

            “You look well,” Fenris says quietly.

            I gape at him, barely registering his words. Then, slowly, they sink in.

            _You look well._

There’s a flash of bitterness, and I wonder if he has any idea of just how _not_ well I felt after he left.

            But then I’m checking his face for some indication of how he’s feeling. There’s no fear in his expression now.

            He seems a little surprised, but for the most part his eyes are guarded.

            “You do too.” I finally find my voice again over all the clamoring inside my head. I can’t decide if I’m happy to see him, scared that he hates me, furious for him leaving, or relieved that he looks like he’s doing alright. “Varric told me about the cover. Congratulations.”

            Fenris blinks, more surprise appearing on his face. “Thank you.”

            “You deserve it,” I tell him, regaining some of my already limited composure.

            He doesn’t answer, instead reaching around behind me for the counter and presenting me with a pile of napkins.

            “Thanks,” I mumble, trying to mop of the chai that’s now all over my dress. Fortunately, the fabric is black and the spill is nearly invisible.

            Fenris is silent, and I can’t make eye contact again with him standing there in front of me.

            When I finish blotting at my dress, I hold the soggy napkins in one hand and stare down at my dress before finally looking up at him, my toe tapping nervously inside my boot.

            The silence is going to kill me. And I hate that I can’t tell just what he’s feeling. The hunch of his shoulders is there, indicating discomfort. His eyes are hard, lips pressed into an unhappy line.

            He doesn’t make that face at me. At least, he didn’t before.

            “I should go.” I can’t see him now. Can’t see that he doesn’t care for me anymore. Can’t see that I let myself get hurt again.

            I step around him, and in the rush my arm brushes against his.

            He draws back immediately, and I feel the twist somewhere in the pit of my stomach. He doesn’t want me touching him, even if it’s through our clothed arms.

            I throw the napkin into the trashcan as I leave, actually relieved for the cold air to take some of the sting away.

            The bus pulls away as I’m walking toward the stop, and I don’t feel like running or waving to the driver. Instead, I plop down on the bench.

            This sucks.

            This really freaking sucks.

            I stare blankly across the street, watching the sidewalk as people pass by. A woman holding her daughter’s hand. A couple with their arms wound around each other. An old man with a cane.

            My phone rings loudly, startling me into a little flail as I reach into my purse.

            I find my phone under a few wadded tissues, crumpled receipts, and a package of gum. It’s Saemus.

            I take a deep breath.

            Life goes on.

            “Hello?”

            “Marie? I—do you have a moment?”

            I feel my eyebrows pull together at the worry in his tone. “Definitely. What’s going on, Saemus?”

            He’s breathing quickly. “Do you remember the woman from the Hanged Man you saw me with?”

            “The Chantry reporter?” I stand up with a nervous grimace. “I do. Is she giving you trouble again?”

            “Blackmail. She’s trying to blackmail me. Marie, whatever she has could hurt both my father and Ashaad.” His voice is crackling with fear.

            “Blackmail? What’s she trying to get you to do? Can you call the police on her?” I keep my voice down, moving away from the bus stop as a drunk woman ambles over unsteadily.

            “You know my situation, Marie. If the police get involved, it’ll be worse for everyone.” Saemus sounds like he’s waking somewhere, and I can hear a car honk through the phone. “She wants to meet with me. If I don’t cooperate, she said she’ll bring down my father along with the Qun.”

            “Does she have information that could actually do that much damage?” I’m pacing now.

            There’s hesitation now. “I’m not sure. But she’s been digging around in my personal life. Some of my correspondences with members of the Qun, if they were taken out of context—”

            I groan. “Saemus.”

            “I didn’t think that the Chantry would go this far for elections,” Saemus says, but it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to defend himself. “Marie, she said she could release evidence that would put Ashaad under investigation for criminal charges.”

            I stare at the crack in the sidewalk. “What does she want in exchange for not releasing all of this information?”

            “I don’t know. But it can’t be good.”

            I exhale slowly. “No kidding. Are you meeting her now?”

            “Yes. I just—something about this feels wrong.”

            I put my palm over my forehead. “I’d be worried if it didn’t. She’s blackmailing you, Saemus.”

            “More than that.” He’s scared, barely restrained.

            “Where are you going? I can be close by. Or I can go with you.” I walk back to the bus stop.

            “She wanted to meet behind the old cathedral in Hightown.”

            “Creepy,” I mutter. “I’m on my way.”

            A beat of silence before Saemus says, “Marie, you don’t have to—”

            “You’re my friend, Saemus. I’ll be there soon. We can figure everything out once we know what that woman wants from you.”

            He sighs, and it sounds like relief. “Thank you, Marie.”

            “No problem. I’ll see you soon.” I end the call just as the bus pulls up to the stop. It’s the wrong line.

            I cross the street quickly, getting back on one of the main roads, and flag down a taxi. “Hightown,” I say to the driver. “The cathedral.”

            The man drives erratically, like everyone in Kirkwall, and we make it there in fifteen minutes.

            I don’t have exact change now, but pass off a wad of bills to the driver before clambering out.

            It’s dark, and I’ve always thought the cathedral is incredibly spooky. Something about stained glass windows in the dark and vines clinging on old stone reminds me of a horror movie.

            I hate horror movies.

            The grounds are empty, leaving it all too quiet, and I hurry around the iron fence surrounding the grounds. Several streetlights are out, and I try not to trip over the uneven pavement.

            I pull out my phone to call Saemus again. Hopefully Petrice isn’t here yet and we have time to talk a little more about what exactly he’s gotten himself into.

            And hopefully he hasn’t gotten himself into anything too terrible.

            The alley behind the cathedral is narrow, winding around the edge of the fence and backing up to some of the oldest buildings in Kirkwall.

            Saemus isn’t answering his phone, and I squint in the darkness. I don’t hear anyone talking either—

            “Saemus!”

            I don’t even realize I’m screaming his name until I’m running to a crumpled figure, leaning against the iron fence.

            Dropping to my knees, I grab his shoulders. His head lolls, red caked down the side of his face. “Oh my God. Saemus?”

            His eyes are closed.

            Blind panic. My head swims, and I can barely dial 911 with hands shaking this badly.

            “Saemus, can you hear me? Saemus, please.” I don’t know how to check a pulse. Two fingers on the wrist? That spot on his neck? Where’s the pulse point?

            _Please let him still have a pulse._

“Kirkwall 911, what’s your emergency?”

            “I—hospital. We need to get to a hospital.”

            “Where are you located?”

            “The cathedral in Hightown. The alley behind it. Just in the back. There’s been an attack. He’s bleeding from his head, he’s not responding.”

            _Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay._

“Can you tell me wh—”

            The collected voice on the line vanishes as a hand on my shoulder shoves me away, the phone clattering out of my hand.

            “Saemus.”

            Everything’s blurring, sliding in and out of focus as I scrabble to my feet.

            There’s a large man bending over Saemus now, huge frame blocking Saemus from my angle.

            “Get away from him,” I gasp, reaching to try to push the giant man away.

            The man whirls on me. His face is familiar—Ashaad. Saemus’s boyfriend. What’s he doing here?

            “Ashaad, I—”

            Hands are wrapping around my neck as my head slams back into the iron fence. “Why?” Ashaad snarls at me, his grip tightening.

            I’m squeaking for air, terrible noises escaping my throat as my fingers scratch at his wrists, trying to pry him off. “Called—coming—”

            My eyes are welling at the pressure, my heart pounding in my chest.

            Ashaad squeezes harder, and the air stops completely, no matter how hard I try to force it back in my lungs.

            I kick, knee, struggle.

            Nothing.

            He’s too strong, holding too tightly.

            I can see dark spots appearing in my vision.

            Freckles.

            Freckles?

            _You have to learn how to defend yourself, Hawke. You can’t always act like a doormat._

            Aveline’s voice.

            _If you need to break a front chokehold, it’s easy enough. Instead of prying the attacker’s fingers away, break their hold from underneath. Let me demonstrate on Officer Duncan._

My arms fall to my sides.

            _Try to stay as calm as you can, and bring your hands up over your head like this._

I clasp my hands together, every muscle screaming to keep flailing, to try to get some air.

            I raise my hands through Ashaad’s arms with a force that makes my whole body jerk.

            The pressure disappears from my neck and I wheeze.

            I’m gulping air, holding one hand out. “Didn’t—hurt—” I gasp, the sound high pitched and close to a shriek between the coughs that make my eyes burn. “Saemus. Here to help.”

            I have to hold onto the fence to keep myself from swaying on my feet.

            Sirens blare, but there’s no way that anyone could’ve responded that quickly.

            Someone called earlier than I did.

            My knees give out and I hit the ground, several feet away from Saemus, clutching my neck at the pain.

            Petrice.

            She set this up.

            My cheeks are wet, pulse still racing, pounding in my ears.

            Ashaad is squatting next to Saemus, holding him to his chest.

            I think my heart is about to explode, but the street lights are dimming and—

            Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's actually Fenris in the next chapter. And there's no violence!   
> (Promise!)


	21. The Lovely Smell of Antiseptic and Feelings

            “Do you have enough information on her that you could make an arrest?” I ask quietly. Quietly, because any louder I’ll be coughing and wincing in pain.

            “We have enough to bring her in for questioning at the very least.” Aveline sighs, stepping back inside Saemus’s hospital room.

            Saemus’s father already came and went, so it’s now Carver, Bethany, Mom, Donnic, and I left with a still unconscious Saemus. It’s almost two in the morning now, and all of us are beyond exhausted.

            Carver stands at the door, glowering every time it opens and only relaxing once he sees who’s coming inside.

            He leans back against the wall now, since it’s only Aveline.

            _My sweet baby brother._

“Anything on her?” Donnic moves over to Aveline, frowning worriedly.

            Aveline rubs the back of her neck, rolling her head slightly. “She’s not exactly the brightest, this Petrice. She may have made the calls to Ashaad and Saemus from a payphone, but I called into the station and asked for them to check into any security cameras in the area. There’s a drugstore that installed a camera just down the street due to the number of break-ins. And it caught Petrice strolling by just before and after the times the calls were made.”

            I breathe out in relief, only to start a coughing fit.

            It sounds terrible, and I can feel my face scrunch up with the burn.

            Mom, sitting on the uncomfortable hospital chair next to me, reaches for my hand and squeezes it tightly.

            “That’s good,” I rasp, speaking through the prickling in my eyes. “Once Saemus wakes up, he’ll be able to confirm everything.”

            Aveline nods sternly. “Ashaad’s already told us it was a female voice on the end of the call informing him of where to go. Petrice really tried to set them up.”

            “That’s why I think there was no blackmail material to begin with,” I whisper, quirking an eyebrow at Aveline. “Don’t you think this would be a pretty stupid move for someone who actually had blackmail material? Swing a bat at Saemus’s head and make an attempt to frame Ashaad?”

            Donnic looks at me, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t have been a stupid move if you weren’t there, Hawke. Technically, you and Ashaad are still suspects. You have an alibi, with witnesses that could vouch for you. But Ashaad… he would’ve been caught in a tight spot. And Saemus’s connections to him would’ve been exposed.”

            “They still _will_ be exposed, thanks to this incident,” Aveline says grimly. “But I’ll see that we don’t release much to the public, especially if the Chantry comes poking around for Petrice.”

            “Thank you, Aveline. You too, Donnic.” I offer them a smile, though I feel a little bit like falling asleep at the moment.” Please look out for Saemus the best you can.”

            “We’re not finished yet, Hawke,” Aveline’s eyes go sharp. “Are you sure you aren’t pressing charges against Ashaad?”

            “I’m not pressing charges!” It’s too vehement, and I cough again.

            Bethany materializes with a cup of water, and I take it and attempt to drink some. It hurts to swallow.

            “He could’ve killed you, Hawke.” Aveline grimaces.

            “He thought I could’ve killed Saemus,” I counter.

            _It’s hard to sound persuasive when you’re croaking like a frog._

“That’s no excuse for what he did.” Aveline seems almost frustrated.

            “I know. But I’m okay now, and Saemus is stable, and Petrice is the one who needs to be locked up. Or at least sent to some hippie nature reform camp to learn how to be a decent human being,” I add as an afterthought.

            Aveline gives me a definitely frustrated look. “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll check in after I get back to the station and see what I can do about Petrice.”

            I lean back in the chair, eyes already drooping. “You’re the best, Aveline.”

            “Don’t get yourself into trouble again,” Aveline retorts, heading for the door.

            “Aveline?” I straighten again, muscles protesting.

            She and Donnic both turn to look at me, Donnic’s hand on the sliding handle.

            “I was only able to break the hold on me because of what you said in class. Thanks for making me come back to it. If I hadn’t, I might’ve…” I can feel Mom’s grip on my hand tighten.

            Aveline’s face softens. “Hawke? I’m glad you’re alright.”

            They leave, and we fall into silence.

            “Do you need anything, sweetheart?” Mom won’t let go of me.

            “For you all go to home and get some sleep,” I croak at them. “The doctors all said I was okay. No fractured… larynx, or whatever it was. Just some swelling.”

            “Doctor Harel said we should still keep an eye on you, Sis.” Bethany says from behind me.

            Doctor Harel, the man with a shiny bald head and wrinkled khaki pants had given me the okay. My mother, currently looking at me like I might keel over any second now, has not.

            “I’m fine. I’ll be fine, really. I’ll stay in the hospital. Just with Saemus.” I say quickly.

            “You passed out!” Bethany argues, dark eyebrows drawing together. “You were only waking up when we got here. Don’t tell me you’re fine.”

            “Bethy. I’m okay. They said it was just from the shock.”

            Mom’s expression mirrors Bethany’s. “Marie, you—”

            “She said she’s okay, Mom.” Carver grouses from the wall he’s still leaning against.

            Mom and Bethany both fix him with a glare, but Mom relents and sighs. “Can I get you anything? Or bring you something?”

            Bethany waves one of her hands, showing us her phone. “I texted Merrill and she’s bringing Marie a change of clothes.”

            “You texted Merrill?” I whine.

            “Of course I did. She’s your roommate. And she worries about you. I’m sure she’s already called you eighty times if you just checked your phone. Like you never do,” Bethany adds, now fixing me with a glare.

            She doesn’t have the eyes for an incredibly evil glare, but it’s enough that I feel a little guilty.

            My phone is… somewhere. I should probably look for it.

            “So Merrill’s coming by?” Mom asks for confirmation, and Bethany nods. “Do you want us to wait until she gets here?”

            “Mom.” I try to groan and instead it comes out as a weird whistling yodel. “I’ll be twenty two in two months. I can be by myself for more than a few minutes at a time.”

            That makes Mom smack my arm. “Marie,” she says in the fashion that only exasperated mothers speak in.

            I quickly grasp the spot she whacked with as much dramatic flair as I can manage. “Mother! How could you hit such a terribly injured person? Poor me, I think my larynx might’ve broken from the impact!”

            “Fractured. And that’s not possible from hitting your arm.” Bethany rolls her eyes. “She’s obviously fine, Mom.”

            My mother sighs and stands, kissing the top of my head. “Let me know if you need anything.”

            “I will, Mom.” I still have no clue where my phone is. “I love you. Love you Carver. Love you Beth. Thank you all for staying with me so late.”

            Carver grunts as Bethany and Mom leave the room. He lets the door close behind them and stares at me.

            “What?”

            Carver shakes his head. “Nothing. Well. I’m… I’m glad you fought back.”

            He quickly shoves the door open and disappears, and I laugh internally, since actually making those noises would be unpleasant.

            Maybe he’s not sweet, but he’s Carver.

            I shift in the chair, trying to get more comfortable.

            Saemus has an IV drip, and despite regaining consciousness for a few moments when we first got to the hospital, he’s been out since.

            Doctor Harel comes by after a few minutes, asking how I’m doing while he checks on Saemus. I swear, his head is _shiny_. I’m distracted by it as he carefully prods at my throat.

            He’s doing it to be nice, since I’m not actually his patient now.

            When he leaves, I reach for Saemus’s hand. Ashaad is probably still at the station, and I don’t want to leave Saemus alone.

            The stupid mayor was all bustle. In and out, careful not to ruin his image, not wanting anyone to spot him in the hospital and pry into the situation.

            His own _son._

I adjust the pillows under Saemus’s head, and I’m sitting back down when the door opens again.

            I blink at the sight.

            Merrill’s flying into the room with her arms outstretched, Isabela’s not far behind her, and—

            Fenris is standing in the doorway.

            Merrill’s arms are wrapping around me before I can think about any of it.

            “Hawke!” She’s crying, sniffing into my ear as she practically sits on my lap. “Bethany said—Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay—Oh, Hawke!”

            She's brushing against my neck and I’m cringing at the dull throbbing made worse by the contact.

            Isabela is suddenly there removing Merrill, draping her arm around Merrill’s shoulders (probably to keep her from launching herself at me again). “Hurts like a bitch?” Isabela’s not wearing any makeup, and I’ve only seen her without eyeliner twice since we became friends. Both she and Merrill look like they rolled out of bed to come here. Which they probably did.

            “Yeah,” I try to rearrange my face into something that doesn’t look like I’m grinding my teeth in pain.

            “Do they have you on pain meds?” Isabela asks, zeroing in on my neck as Merrill wipes at her eyes.

            “They gave me a few when I first got here,” I answer quickly, reaching up to squeeze Merrill’s arm. “Merrill, I’m okay. Really.”

            “Don’t say that, Hawke,” Merrill hiccups. “You shouldn’t say that if you’re not truly okay. What can we do?”

            I glance back at Fenris, who’s moved inside the room just enough to let the door close. He’s watching us with an unreadable expression.

            “Coffee?” Isabela asks suddenly.

            I blink at her. “Coffee?”

            “You look like you could use some,” Isabela says with confident authority. “Come on, Merrill.”

            “But I—”

            “Hawke gets cranky without her caffeine.” Isabela loops her arm through Merrill’s and practically drags her away, and I opt not to say that I usually don't drink caffeine at close to three in the morning unless I'm writing final papers.

            Which leaves Fenris and I in the room.

            Alone.

            Well, alone together.

            I clear my throat.

            _Terrible idea._

I duck my head, biting my lip at the searing sensation ripping along my… larynx.

            “If Isabela dragged you along, you really don’t have to stay.” I say quietly, unfolding my legs to stand up and take a few steps forward. “I’ll go meet them downstairs if you… if you need to go.”

            Fenris is still staring at me, but I can see the intensity now that I’m closer. “Do you have any idea—” His voice falters.

            His eyes are wet, and he breathes in unevenly.

            “Merrill told me you were in the hospital. On the way over she said you’d been attacked. Someone tried to… to strangle you. God, Hawke, I thought—” He blinks, and tears track down his cheeks. He’s crying? “I thought you—”

            I reach for him without thinking, only stopping with my hand hovering next to his cheek at the memory of him recoiling from my touch. I can feel every heartbeat, every breath rattling past my raw throat.

            He takes my wrist, and I almost shrink away at the rejection.

            But he pulls me forward gently, dropping my wrist so he can wrap me in his arms.

            I tense again, wondering if he’s going to suddenly push me away like I’m burning him. But he doesn’t. He just… holds me.

            And it’s so easy to tuck myself into his chest.

            It’s so easy to melt into him, my forehead on his shoulder.

            We stand in silence, warming each other until I’m not sure if I was the one stealing body heat or if it was the other way around.

            “Hawke.” He breathes it so quietly I almost think it’s just another exhale.

            I press my nose into his coat, and I can feel his fingers curl into the back of my dress. The dress that still has a chai stain on the front.

            I missed this.

            I missed Fenris.

            But I can’t wrap my head around why he’s here when he wanted nothing to do with me for the last month.

            I hear the door sliding open only a moment before Merrill’s voice chimes, “They weren’t open, so we bought some soda from the vending machine, and—Oh!”

            Fenris pulls away from me, and I almost shiver at the loss of warmth. I have to resist the urge to cling onto him.

            “We’ll stay with Saemus,” Isabela says quickly, setting the can down on the little table next to the door. “Why don’t you get out of this stuffy room for a bit. Fenris, you better keep her company in case she decides to run off to be a hero with someone else.”

            I blink at Isabela. “Run off to be a hero?”

            “Bethany called while we were out just now and gave me the full story,” Isabela quirked an eyebrow. “Now stop your do-gooding and get out of here for a bit.”

            “I didn’t do do-gooding. Uh. I didn’t do-good. As in do-gooding.” I mumble, completely failing at forming understandable sentence.

            “You really need to get out of here,” Isabela snorts at me.

            Maybe I do. I look at Fenris—a question.

            He nods, and we step out into the hallway together.

            We walk few paces, passing a nurse, then turn and slowly make our way down the next hall before he stops. I rub the side of my face tiredly, the confusion of having Fenris back warring with the desire to curl up into a ball and go to sleep on the floor.

            “I should have spoken with you weeks ago,” he mutters, scratchy and low.

            I’m still somehow surprised that he brought it up. But then again, isn’t that the giant elephant in the hall?

            “I didn’t think you wanted to talk.” I drop my chin, looking at the off white linoleum tile that seems to be a hospital staple no matter where I go.

            Fenris shakes his head. “I thought it was better if you hated me.”

            That makes my chin jerk up, and my hand flies to my throat with an accompanying wince. “Hated you?” I ask hoarsely. “Why would that be better?”

            He seems taken aback, eyes widening slightly at my response. “I deserve no less.”

            “What are you saying?” My voice cracks around the already whistling tone, frustration bubbling to the surface after stewing for weeks. “Why do you want me to hate you? I love—” I cut myself off, though my mouth hangs open.

            I just said it.

            _Why, Marie?_

Fenris stares in complete disbelief. “I left you.” He sounds incredulous. “Hawke, I owe an impossible debt to a man who took everything from me.” His expression darkens, eyes flashing as he takes a step back from me. “I could only run from him. I don’t remember over half of my life and have almost nothing to my name,” he growls, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the white strands. “I don’t know how to be with you and walked away—does none of that bother you?”

            “Of course it bothers me!” Again with the breaking voice, but I clench my jaw and push on. “I hate what that bastard commissioner did to you. I hate that you had to run for so long. I hate that you can’t remember you life from before. And I hate that you left me. But I love _you_. You, Fen. For you. Not anything else.” My throat’s burning, and I can’t swallow the agonizing lump in my throat for fear of it hurting worse. “I never meant to hurt you,” I barely get the words out. “But since I did, I… I understand why you left me. And I don’t hate you for it.”

            “What?”

            My head’s starting to hurt, pounding in time with the throb of my throat. “I don’t hate—”

            “You still think you hurt me?” Fenris asks flatly.

            I press my fingers to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. “I know I did. The way you wouldn’t let me touch you, the way you watched me like you were terrified—”

            “Hawke. Look at me.” His voice is firm but quiet, and I find myself squinting at him with that same mess of warring emotions. “You did nothing wrong.”

            I search his face. “How do you expect me to believe that?”

            Fenris looks behind me, then up at the ceiling. “It was… memories.”

            I take a slow breath before turning slightly so I can lean against the wall and slide down to the floor, exhausted and so, so confused. “Memories?”

            He paces a few steps down the hall and back, while I draw my knees to my chest and watch him. He finally stops in front of me. “Memories and dreams. They made me realize that I could not be with you.”

            I flinch. “I think you made that part clear when you left.”

            Fenris freezes and makes a guttural noise of frustration. He sinks down beside me, holding his head in his hands. “It’s not for the reasons you think.”

            “I don’t even know what to think any more, Fen.”

            Fenris buries his face in his hands now, hiding his eyes, shoulders rising and falling with his breathing. When he looks up again, he says quietly, “It was nothing you did, Hawke. That night, I… I dreamed of my time in London again. I relived it. The worst moments. It all felt so real. And you… you were Danarius.”

            “Danarius?”

            “My commissioner.”

            _His commissioner?_

_The commissioner._

            The floor disappears, my stomach jerking and I’m falling.

            _No, still here._

My head is swimming. I was him.

            I was that monster.

            “No,” I say. “No, Fen, I’m not—I’m not—”

            “I know, Hawke.”

            “No. I would _never_. I would never be like him.” I think I might be sick, nausea rolling over me. The man who beat Fenris, who put him in a hospital, who tried to own him, who made his life hell—“Never. I would never hurt you.”

            “I know.”

            We stare at each other, not sound other than footsteps from further down the hall, low beeping from nearby rooms.

            “Did you—did you think I could be like him? Is that why you were afraid me?” I break the relative silence in a small voice, terrified of the answer.

            Fenris looks away from me, shaking his head. “No. But I wasn’t thinking. I needed to run again. To run from that feeling. But then you found me before I could get away, and it still felt… too real. I _knew_ it wasn’t, and I couldn’t explain it to you then, even though I saw the hurt written across your face.” Fenris rests his forearms on his knees, head hanging. “I wanted to leave my past behind me, but it won’t stay there.”

            It wasn’t the explanation I expected. None of this was.

            He looks defeated. Drained.

            He had been so relieved to see that I was okay.

            _Of course he was, Marie, he’s a person with a heart who didn’t want you to die. What else does that mean?_

He’d been terrified of me. Because he thought, even if it was just a feeling, that I could be like that bastard commissioner.

            But then he’d pulled me into his arms like I was still just the girl who kissed him and tried to develop his love of desserts.

            Yet at the same time, being with me made him think about the worst place he’s been in his life.

            I realize I’ve been staring at the side of his face for minutes now.

            “Is it better?” I force the question out. “Not being with me?”

            “It isn’t better.”

            “Fenris, I don’t want to be the reason that you relive anything that has to do with that bastard. If being with me means that to you—”

            “It doesn’t. Hawke, you mean… I don’t have sufficient words to describe it.” He rests his head on the wall, chin upturned as he gazed at the ceiling.

            My throat aches as I swallow. “What does that mean, then? For us.”

            Fenris finds my eyes again, and I push loose pieces of hair behind my ear.

            He leans closer to me, taking over when the strands refuse to stay put, tucking them neatly. His hands are warm and calloused, and I stay silently still as he draws back again.

            “Just an hour ago, I thought I could lose you,” Fenris says quietly. “Nothing’s worse than—” He shakes his head. “Even if I hope that you forgive me, Hawke, I can’t promise that this will be easy. Just that memory—that dream—it was like I was there again. If it keeps happening, I may… I may act like I did before.”

            I’m so exhausted I don’t know if I can really process anything correctly. “I don’t want to hurt you. In any way, Fen.”

            Surprise crosses his face again before he leans into me, kissing my hair. Why is he always surprised by the things I say? “Hawke.”

            I grimace in confusion, trying to find the resolve not to just pull myself onto his lap. “If you can’t be with me because of the memories it brings up, and all of the feelings that go with it—and trust me, from the little I know, it would be horrible to have to go through what happened with Anders every time I saw you—then I understand. If you don’t want to be with me, Fen—”

            “Hawke,” he says my name again, this time in my ear, and my eyes fall closed. He breathes lightly for several moments. “If you’ll have me, I’m still yours.”

            The sincerity in his voice leave little room for more questioning.

            I let my head fall on his shoulder, blindly reaching for his hand and winding my fingers through his. “Is this okay?” I whisper.

            Feather light lips press against the side of my jaw. “Yes.”

            I keep my eyes shut. “Then we’ll work through all of this together. Is that okay?”

            Fenris relaxes against me. “Yes.”

            “And if I do something, or say something, or you dream again about Danarius,” the name feels strange on my tongue, and I hate it already, “then you’ll try to tell me. Is that okay?”

            “Yes.”

            There’s more to list, but my brain is getting fuzzy.

            Can brains get fuzzy?

            We breathe in together, a steady rhythm as I shift to get more comfortable.

            Fenris jerks slightly at louder beeps, his breath catching sometimes when voices float from down the hall.

            “You don’t like hospitals very much, do you?” My words are slurred together with numb tiredness.

            “No, I do not.”

            Silence.

            “How did you know?”

            My mouth feels thick as I rasp, “I can tell. ‘Sides, you didn’t want to get to the hospital that night the vase slammed over your head. Only agreed to a clinic.”

            “Hmm.”

            I wiggle a little bit again, trying to ignore the pain in my throat. “Still sorry ‘bout that.”

            “Hawke,” Fenris sighs. “Go to sleep.”

            “Kay.”

            Faint beeping.

            “Fen?”

            “Yes, Hawke?”

            “You still be here when I wake up?”

            Another kiss, this time on my own lips.

            “I’ll be here.”


End file.
